


Another Brick In The Wall

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because seriously who wants to go back to that time, But I've read a few and don't like how Killian is portrayed, F/M, I don't actually like high school AUs, I don't know why I'm writing this, so here's my version...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: A high school AU. Why? I don't really know. Probably because I've read a few of them lately just out of curiosity and I can't say I care for how Killian is portrayed. So here's my version. It sort of wrote itself this afternoon. Give it a try, let me know what you think.I'm gonna say it's vaguely Captain Duckling-ish even though Emma and Killian are both teenagers. How is this possible, you ask? Read and find out.New, serious-this-time-summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with.





	1. Chapter 1

She noticed him right away, the new face in her school. A face that was a bit too skinny, much like his lanky frame, but the high cheekbones of one and the long limbs of the other hinted at good things to come. His dark hair fell messily across his forehead, and his eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen. When they caught hers, he merely raised an eyebrow at her and turned away.

Her mouth fell open in indignation. No one turned away from Emma Swan. Not in her school.

“Who’s the new guy?” she asked Ruby, trying to sound nonchalant. Ruby was the gossip master; she knew everything that went on at Storybrooke High.

Ruby followed her friend's gaze to the tall boy slamming his locker shut and frowning at his class schedule. "Um, his name’s Killian Jones. He’s from England or Ireland or somewhere. His brother’s the new harbourmaster, they just moved here last month.”

“Killian.” Emma tested the name. It was unusual, but she liked it. It fit him.

Suddenly she was engulfed from behind by a pair of strong arms, chasing all thoughts of the new boy from her head. “Hey, babe,” said Neal, planting a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Whaddya say we ditch this place and go make out under the bleachers?”

Emma shrugged him off, pushing away from his grasp. “Ugh, Neal, I’ve told you before not to do that. And it’s the first day of school, of course I’m not gonna ditch.”

He laughed. “You’re such a nerd, Ems.”

She glared at him. “I am not, I just want good grades so I can go to college. Not all of us have football scholarships.”

“Neal doesn’t have a football scholarship either, not yet,” Ruby pointed out with a small sneer. She was not Neal’s biggest fan. 

“Only a matter of time, Rubes,” said Neal, with a smug grin. “Coach has scouts coming to the first game, so I just gotta be my usual awesome self and it’s in the bag.”

He slung his arm around Emma’s shoulders and she took a deep, calming breath, barely managing to suppress the urge to cringe. She liked Neal, truly. They had known each other since kindergarten, and she guessed he was technically her boyfriend, but she hated -- _hated_ \-- the PDA. He knew that, she had told him often enough, but it never seemed to stop him.

She gave him a tense smile. "I'm headed to Psychology," she told him.

"I'll walk you there." His arm tightened around her shoulders as he steered her away from Ruby and towards her first class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian was in her third period English class, though that first morning he was nearly late to it. By the time he appeared in the doorway it was barely a minute until the bell, and the only open seats were in the first row. She could swear she caught an eyeroll, and he seemed to smirk at the class at large as he deliberately sat in the very front and centre.

Just in front and to the right of where she was sitting.

He carried a leather satchel instead of a backpack, and when he slung it open to pull out his notebook she noticed an AP Calculus textbook, a slim laptop, and a large pair of headphones.

AP Calc and AP English, she thought. Who was this guy?

He seemed to feel her eyes on him and turned to look at her. She resisted the urge to turn away, instead boldly holding his blue gaze. Emma Swan did not shrink from anyone, not even disconcertingly handsome foreign boys with very blue eyes. He grinned at her, and she sensed respect in it, even as its brilliance made her heart gallop.

Then the teacher entered the room, and he shot her a wink and looked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was in her AP US History class as well, and she heard that he also had AP Physics, French and German, from her friends who were in those classes. She heard that he was taking a Greek class online, from overhearing Miss French, the librarian who was monitoring his studies. She heard he had joined the fencing club from her own father, who coached it. She managed to hear a lot of things about him, eavesdropping and probing for the information as subtly as possible, dying of curiosity but not prepared for her friends or family to know just how much the new boy fascinated her. He was from Bristol in England and he had no family except for his brother, who was ten years older and as Ruby had reported, the new harbourmaster. They had American citizenship through their mother, and after some sort of scandal or disaster in England (no one seemed to know the details) had decided to make a new start in a new country. Killian was sixteen, more than a year younger than Emma, and he should be a junior but he’d already finished, according to Ruby, the British equivalent of a high school diploma and apparently the AP classes were the nearest thing to what he’d be doing if he’d stayed in the UK.

“If he passes all his AP exams then he can finish high school a year early and start college next year,” Ruby reported. “I’d call him just your average nerd, but Victor and I were at that new coffee shop in Misthaven last Thursday and they had an open mic night. New boy was there, with his guitar.”

“He plays the guitar?” _Seriously?_

“Yep, and sings. He’s pretty good. He did a Dylan cover, which, ugh, but then he sang an Irish song too that was acutally kinda great.”

“Irish? I thought he was English?”

Ruby shrugged. “Irish, English, it’s all the same.”

Emma was pretty sure that it wasn’t the same at all, but she remembered just in the nick of time that she wasn’t supposed to be interested in Killian, and changed the subject.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time he spoke in English class (he never volunteered to answer questions, but when the teacher called on him he always produced a brilliant answer. Even though he never seemed to do any homework, spending his lunch and free periods on his laptop, with his headphones on) she listened carefully. She was no expert in accents, but he sounded English to her. Like, he wouldn’t be out of place on Downton Abbey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She looked at the website of the Misthaven coffee shop and made a note of their next open mic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting as unobtrusively as possible in a quiet corner booth, she watched as Killian sat down on the improvised stage and took out his guitar. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, announcing that he would be playing what he described as “An old Irish folk song with a bit of an update.” He smiled as he said it, and Emma noticed a group of girls she recognised as Misthaven High cheerleaders whispering and giggling at a table just to his right. Before she had a chance to analyse the stab of _something_ she felt watching them, something sharp and unpleasant, Killian began to sing and she was enraptured.

He was beautiful. His song was beautiful, his voice was beautiful, his eyes were beautiful. And she was _fucked_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She snuck out of the coffee shop without talking to him, and banged her forehead on the steering wheel of her car. She didn't know how to handle this. Emma Swan did not crush on boys, she was crushed upon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She smiled at him in class the next day, a deliberate, flirty smile. He raised an eyebrow in response, but the corners of his mouth turned up as well and she felt like she could fly to the moon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still, he didn’t talk to her. She’d smiled at him every day for two weeks in both their shared classes, had timed her departures so that they walked out of the classrooms together, had brushed up against him in the hallway, laughing and putting her hand on his arm as she apologised, had dropped her pencil and asked him to pick it up then leaned forward and flipped her hair as he handed it to her. She’d tried everything, all the little tricks that would have reduced any other boy in school to a quivering jelly, but Killian simply smiled and responded with the same detatched politeness that he used with all the other girls.

Like she was just any other girl.

Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. “So,” she said, as they were gathering their things after English class. “Are you going to Homecoming?”

He looked slightly surprised for a moment, then smirked. “No,” he said, and turned to go.

She grabbed her backpack and hastened after him. “What? Why not?”

He turned to look at her, this time with an incredulous expression. “Why on earth do _you_ care whether I embrace ridiculous American high school traditions or not?” he inquired.

“I’m just curious.”

“Indeed. But why?”

She shrugged, not wanting to admit how interested she was in him.

His eyebrow rose again. “Well, then, let me suggest that you mind your own business, princess.”

She gaped. How dare he speak to her like that? “I’m not a princess!” she protested.

“Oh, I think you are. Emma Swan, daughter of the town sheriff, niece of the mayor, girlfriend of the quarterback, head cheerleader, most popular girl in school. You couldn’t be more of a cliché of the perfect small-town American princess if you tried.” He started walking again, dismissing her.

She followed, running to catch up with his long-legged strides. “You know an awful lot about me,” she huffed. 

“You’re hard to avoid.”

“I know a lot about you, too.” She didn’t know where that confession had come from, but she planted herself in his path and stood her ground.

He gave her a sardonic smirk. “I doubt that very much.”

“You’re from Bristol, England, you’re super smart but you don’t make a big deal about it, you love music and you play the guitar.” She counted on her fingers before throwing him a triumphant look.

“Oh, well done,” he sneered. “I’d almost think I had an admirer. But I’m afraid you missed out on the most important thing about me, love.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

Something flickered in his eyes, something lost and sad, just for a moment before he slammed the barriers down again. “I am just marking time in this town,” he replied, “until I can pass my exams and go the fuck back home.” She gasped at his language, and he smirked, leaning into her space and almost making her gasp again at the electric sizzle she felt at his nearness. “So don’t get too attached, _princess_.”

They were standing in the middle of the hallway, inches apart and eyes locked, when suddenly he was gone, slammed back into the lockers behind them with Neal’s forearm against his neck.

“What are you doing with my girlfriend, dickhead?” snarled Neal.

Killian was unfazed, merely raising a disdainful eyebrow. “Not a thing, mate.”

Neal removed his arm, but remained close as Killian slowly straightened. He was skinnier than Neal but also quite a bit taller, and he somehow managed to look intimidating as he glared down at the older boy.

Neal scowled and stepped back, putting his arm possessively around Emma. “You’re new here,” he said scornfully, “so maybe you don’t know how this works. I’m the quarterback—”

“And you date the cheerleader and get elected homecoming king, yeah, I’ve seen that movie,” Killian scoffed back. “Trust me, mate, I have no interest in interfering or getting involved with you or your girlfriend.”

“Well.” Neal looked mollified, and Emma wanted to smack him. Couldn’t he see that Killian was making fun of both of them? “Okay then. But I still don’t like you.”

“I still don’t give a fuck.”

Neal snorted. “Let’s go, Ems, I’ll walk you to your locker.” He steered her away, the arm around her shoulder like iron.

From the corner of her eye she saw Killian giving her a mocking bow before he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the response to this story has been a very pleasant surprise! I truly didn't expect so many people to respond so positively to it. Thank you to everyone who commented and kudosed, I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> As you know if you've read anything else I've written, my fics tend to be very... adult, so getting into the minds of teenagers has been an interesting challenge. It probably doesn't help that I stopped being a teenager twenty years ago. So I guess if any details of high school in this story seem a bit old-fashioned, let's just chalk it up to Storybrooke being an old-fashioned sort of place, and NOT to me being old. Okay?

Despite his emphatic rejection of it during their confrontation in the hall, Emma still looked for Killian at the Homecoming dance that Saturday. He wasn’t there, of course. She’d known he wouldn’t be, he’d said _clearly_ he wouldn’t be, and yet some small part of her had held out hope that he’d show. She felt deflated, like a burst balloon, all the joy gone from the evening.

She tried to enjoy herself anyway, to dance with her friends, to let Neal steal a kiss, but the hollow feeling in her gut simply wouldn’t allow it. When the dance ended and the others headed out to Granny’s for a late night burger she claimed a headache and went home.

Still in her dress and heels, she collapsed onto her bed and lay there for a long time thinking about Killian, wondering where he was and what he was doing at that very moment. Was he asleep? Listening to music? Reading? With some other girl? She felt a sharp stab in her chest at that thought, but then he’d said very emphatically that he wasn’t interested in _her_ , so…

And _yet_ …

She’d replayed their conversation in her head a hundred times and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t been entirely truthful. That maybe he _was_ interested in her, that he felt the same pull that she did, an attraction that she was certain couldn’t be one-sided.

If it was one-sided, she thought in a burst of uncharacteristic melodrama, if she was alone in this wild rush of feelings, the pain of that might actually kill her.

 _No, dang it!_ She gave herself a mental slap and sat up. It _wouldn’t_ kill her if he didn't like her back and it wouldn’t stop her. Whatever happened, she promised herself, she wasn’t going to be pathetic. Emma Swan did not pine away over unrequited crushes. Emma Swan went after what she wanted, and she usually got it.

She had never wanted anything the way she wanted Killian. The only question was how to get him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She put her plan into action the next morning.

“Good morning, Duckling,” said her father, coming in to the kitchen and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re up early.”

“Morning, Daddy. I’m up early because I was hoping I could come to fencing club with you today.”

David turned, looking in surprise at the innocent expression on his daughter’s face. “You haven’t fenced since you started cheerleading,” he said.

“I know, but I kinda miss it—” that at least was true “— and Miss French thought it would stand out on college applications. So is it okay if I come?”

“Well, I suppose so, we’ve already had several practices but I’m sure you’d catch up again quickly. You always were great at fencing, I was disappointed when you gave it up.”

“I know, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

David sat down next to her and squeezed her hand. “You make your own choices, Emma, and I will always support them. I’ll just support the ones I like more enthusiastically.” He grinned at her, and she laughed. “Actually,” continued David thoughtfully, “you might have some actual competition in fencing club this year. You remember I mentioned that British boy who’s just moved here? Killian?”

Emma fought to keep her expression neutral. “Um, yeah, I think so.”

“Well it turns out he’s a natural, the best I’ve seen since— well, since you.”

“Mmmm?” said Emma vaguely.

“Smooth as silk and with some interesting, um, variations on standard technique.” David shook his head, a funny smile on his face. “You know, I might pair you with him for sparring today, you might be the only one who could actually give him a run for his money.”

“Sure, if you think he can handle it,” said Emma, resisting the urge to do a victory dance on the kitchen island. “You know _I_ love a challenge.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian was practicing his guitar when a sudden sharp slap on the back of his head nearly knocked him off the sofa. He yowled in protest, glaring up at his brother’s grinning face.

“So, what are you up to today, little brother?” asked Liam, flopping down in the armchair opposite him.

“Fencing club this afternoon,” Killian said sullenly, rubbing the back of his head. “And it’s _younger_ brother, if you don’t mind.”

“Still shorter than me, mate,” crowed Liam, and Killian scowled. His brother’s endless cheerfulness, something that had been a lifeline for both of them only a few short years before, now grated on his nerves.

“So,” said Liam, attempting a casual, offhand tone and failing terribly, “What time do you finish school on Monday?” 

Killian looked at him sharply. “Three forty-five, same as every day. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve made an appointment for you with Dr Hopper. Four o’clock on Monday. No excuses,” Liam said firmly, ignoring Killian’s groan of protest.

“Liam, I don’t need to see a bloody therapist—”

“Yes you do, and not only that you know perfectly well it’s a condition of you being here.” He looked at Killian’s mulish expression and sighed. “Brother, you need to talk to someone. I’m not equipped to deal with what you’re going through—”

“I’m not going through anything!”

“—and so you have to talk to a professional. Please, Killian. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Then let me go back home!”

“You know that’s not possible.” Liam sighed again, looking pleadingly at his brother. “I know it’s hard, moving so far away, having to deal with a different school system and trying to make new friends. But won’t you just try, Killian? Isn’t there _anything_ here in Storybrooke that you like?”

Images of sharp green eyes and hair like silken sunshine flashed through Killian’s mind, but he ruthlessly shoved them aside. Emma Swan was not for him.

“I’ve joined the fencing club, I’m playing at the open mics. I go to school every day and to all my classes even though they’re boring as fuck—”

“Oi! Language!”

“—what more do you want of me?”

“What about friends?”

Killian shook his head. “Everyone at that school looks at me like I’m some sort of museum exhibit, the weird foreigner who talks funny. ‘Ooh Killian say _glass_ , say _water_ , haha so funny.’ No one’s interested in me as a person.” Well, maybe _one_ , one irritatingly persistent blonde who looked at him like she wanted to dig into his soul and pry out all his secrets. He ground his teeth. Whatever her game was, he had no intention of playing it.

“Have _you_ tried getting to know _them_?” inquired Liam, his well-intentioned question only flooding Killian’s head with more thoughts of Emma… of her obvious attempts to get his attention, of their confrontation in the hallway, of her mouth breather of a boyfriend. Of how completely and ridiculously too good for him she was.

 _She is not for the likes of you._ She never would be, and he wanted her the hell out of his head.

“No, and I’m not going to,” he snapped at Liam, letting his frustration over Emma and his ever-present simmering anger overrun his mouth. “I’m going to pass these bloody exams and then I am going to go _home_.”

“You know you can’t—”

“Once I’m eighteen and done with school, there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” snarled Killian, then immediately regretted the words, his gut twisting at the hurt expression on his brother’s face. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and rubbing the bridge of his nose as his anger drained away leaving only the lingering feelings of shame and worthlessness that never seemed to leave him anymore. “I’m sorry, brother. I know what you’ve given up for me, and I do appreciate it. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

“That’s all I ask, Killian.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was buzzing with excitement and nerves when she and David arrived at the fencing club practice. Not only would she get to see Killian outside of school and actually talk to him, but if her dad was right about his skills with a sword she would get a good fight and a solid workout as well.

She spotted him right away, sitting in the corner with his physics textbook.

 _Hah,_ she thought. _So he does do homework_.

He looked up sharply, his eyebrows drawing together in a dark scowl at the sight of her. Slowly, he closed his book and placed it in his satchel, then stood, wiping the scowl from his face and regarding her calmly. She gave him a tentative smile, and could swear his lips twitched as he fought against returning it.

David busied himself with setting up sparring exercises, pairing up the rest of the club before beckoning Killian over.

“Killian, this is my daughter, Emma. She’s decided to join us today.”

“Aye,” said Killian, “We’ve met.”

David looked at Emma, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed the flush on her cheeks. “You have?” he asked.

“We have a couple of classes together.” Emma shrugged, trying to look disinterested.

David nodded. “Well, good, because you’re going to be sparring partners today. You’re both advanced enough that I’ll let you decide what you want to practice, so just keep yourselves busy while I work on some drills with the rest of the club.” He clapped a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t be too rough on him, honey.”

Killian smirked at David’s retreating back. “I notice he’s not worried that I might be too rough on you,” he remarked.

Emma shot him a dazzling smile, step one of her plan to catch him. “So what do you want to practice?” she asked brightly.

He turned to look at her, fixing her with a probing stare until the smile slid from her face and she had to force herself not to squirm. “What are you actually doing here, princess?” he asked, his voice so scornful she nearly winced.

“I’m _trying_ to practice fencing,” she retorted, stung by his tone. “And don’t call me that.”

“Since when do _you_ fence?”

“Since I was five years old and my dad gave me a practice sword for my birthday.” She bristled with indignant anger at his skeptical look. “Oh, you don’t believe me? Why don’t you pick up your sword and see if you can fight me off?”

“Well, seeing as I haven’t been successful fighting you off in any other way, I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You think I haven’t noticed you trying to get my attention in school? Flipping your hair, dropping your pencil, touching my arm in the hall?”

She tried to scoff. “That was nothing—”

“No, it _wasn’t_. Don’t— don’t try to— Look, I know when… when a female is trying to attract me.”

 _That’s a weird way to phrase it,_ she thought, blinking in sudden surprise _. Why would he say that?_

“And now you show up at my fencing practice—”

“It’s not _your_ fencing practice.”

“But it’s a place you knew I’d be. Why?” He looked genuinely upset, almost frantic, and something that felt uncomfortably like guilt pierced her heart. “What do you _want_ from me? And what do I have to do to get you to understand that _I’m not interested?_ ”

His voice rose in emphasis, like he was trying to convince himself as much as her, and Emma’s emotions wanted to rip her apart. She felt terrible for cornering him, for making him so uncomfortable, but at the same time she was desperate to know why he was fighting so hard against the pull she was now convinced he felt as strongly as she did.

But she couldn't bear his distress, and scrambled to think of a way to soothe him. “Right now, I want to spar with you,” she said quietly. “That’s all.”

His eyes bored into hers for several long seconds before he took a deep breath and pulled himself together. She could almost see him pushing down his emotions and pasting the careless smirk back on his face. He picked up his sword and saluted her. “All right then, _princess_ , let’s see what you’ve got.”

Emma smiled, nearly overcome with relief. “I told you,” she said, as she launched directly into her attack, “Don’t call me that.”

He parried her with impressive speed and dexterity, then moved in to the attack. Smooth as silk her dad had called him, and Emma could see why. She and her own rusty skills were soon struggling to keep up.

They fought steadily and silently for several minutes, trading the advantage back and forth between them, neither quite able to push through the other’s defences enough to secure victory.

Finally, Emma saw her opportunity and seized it with a daring lunge that would have ended the fight had it succeeded. Somehow Killian managed to block her at the very last second, forcing her backwards before executing a flashy spinning move that gave him just enough extra force to knock the sword from her hand and send her tumbling to the floor.

That must be the “variation on standard technique” her dad had mentioned, she thought, torn between irritation and being thoroughly impressed. She sat staring up at him, breathing heavily, entranced by the light sheen of sweat on his forehead and temples. He stared back, an look of sheer exhilaration on his face.

Then he smiled, the first genuine, open, unaffected smile he had ever directed at her, and she thought she might never breathe again. He offered her his hand and in a daze she took it, feeling the contact reverberate through her entire body as he helped her to her feet. He kept her hand in his, the smile still on his face, making his blue eyes twinkle and sending swarms of butterflies dancing through her insides.

“Good form, Swan,” he said, his voice warm with approval. “If that’s you _not_ being rough on me I tremble to think how I’d fare when you are.”

“I could never be rough on you,” she said breathlessly, so overwhelmed by the confusion of feelings coursing through her that she could barely think.

Something shifted in his expression, a flash of the same lost vulnerability she’d seen briefly in the hallway. Abruptly he released her hand and stepped back, running his own hand through his hair as a pink flush spread across his cheekbones to the tips of his ears.

“Right,” he said, and scratched nervously behind his ear. “So, uh, do you want to practice anything in particular?”

“Can you teach me that spin move you did?”

He relaxed, the anxiety visibly draining from his slender frame, and he smiled again. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

The next forty minutes were the happiest of Emma’s life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So,” said David in the car on the way home. “Do you think you’ll stick with it this time?”

“Hmmm?” Emma shook herself out of a daydream involving Killian and his eyes and a dark corner of the school library. “What did you say?”

David bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. “Do you think you’ll stick with fencing club?”

“Yeah, I guess. It was fun today.” She paused, shooting her dad a look, but his eyes were on the road. “Killian’s pretty good.”

“He’s a good kid,” said David, and Emma hid a smile of her own. She knew her father would never interfere with her choices, but she still liked to have his approval and it was clear he approved of Killian.

“I’m glad you think so, Daddy,” she said. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she smiled at Killian in English class the next day, he smiled back. “Morning, Swan,” he said.

Emma floated through the rest of the day on a cloud of happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about fencing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started as almost a protest against the tired cliches I’d read in several high school AUs (why was I reading high school AUs? I still don’t know. Some questions have no answers) but it’s somehow morphed itself into a thing I actually quite like. I like the voices of teenaged Emma and Killian, and I like the story that I have to tell about them. I think it’s a good one, one that is true to the characters while also making them real teenagers, with all the fierce and complex emotions of adolescence. What I’m saying is I’ve decided to take this fic seriously and I hope that more people who read my work regularly and may think I’ve lost the plot writing this will give it a chance. I promise there will be no geeks-vs-jocks, cookie-cutter high school stereotypes. It’ll be good. Really. Just try it, and then feel free to shout at me if you hate everything about it.

From that day on Emma and Killian talked before and after each of their classes, briefly at first and then for longer and longer intervals until they found themselves having to hurry to get to their next classes on time. After a few days they formally acknowledged what they’d both known for quite a while—that their fourth period classes were in the same direction— so they walked in it together, standing outside Killian’s French class for as long as they could before Emma had to dart down the hall to get into her Sociology classroom before the bell. She began to swing by the corner table where he always sat at lunch to say hello, which soon turned into them walking from lunch to their history class together. 

At first, their conversations were awkward and stilted, both of them nervous and worried about saying the wrong thing, but soon, as they discovered both common interests and points of disagreement that they could argue over, they relaxed and gradually let more and more of their true selves show through. 

With every conversation Emma grew more and more infatuated. She knew she was being pathetically obvious, that her friends were already starting to whisper behind her back and that soon even Neal would notice, but for once in her life Emma genuinely did not care what anyone else thought. Killian was like no one she had ever met before, and she treasured every single scrap of time she managed to spend in his company. 

The way his eyes lit up when he spoke passionately about something he loved, those rare, precious times when he forgot to brood and let himself laugh with pure joy. The approving look in his eyes when she challenged him. These were the things that Emma lived for. 

That Sunday Emma drove herself to fencing club and after an exhilarating hour of practicing his spin attack (which was much harder than he made it look, she discovered to her dismay) she invited him to Granny’s for hot chocolate. 

He hesitated, looking torn and uncertain. “I don’t know, Swan, I should probably—” 

“What?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, go home I guess.” 

“Come on, Killian, it’s just hot chocolate. An hour, then I’ll give you a ride home.” 

Still he looked unsure. 

“What, you don’t want to be seen with me outside of school?” She tried to make the question teasing, but couldn’t quite hide the genuine insecurity that lay beneath it. 

He softened. “Not at all, Swan.” 

“You don’t think I want to be seen with you, then?” 

He gave her a cheeky smirk, his humour breaking briefly through the sullenness. “Don’t be absurd, why wouldn’t you want to be seen with me? Look at me.” He gestured flamboyantly at his face. 

She could feel herself blushing, but didn’t look away. “Well, exactly,” she said, her tone turning the simple words into a challenge.  

He sighed, relenting. “All right, all right,” he said, a faint smile still on his face. “Just let me call my brother so he doesn’t worry.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sat down in a quiet corner booth and for the first time in days the silence between them was awkward. Emma let it drag out for barely a minute before taking a small cream envelope from her backpack and placing it on the table in front of him with a decisive slap. 

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s an invitation to my birthday party. Next Saturday.” 

He shook his head. “Swan, no…” 

She forced back a wave of dismay. “Why not? It’s my eighteenth birthday, Killian!”

“Something you’d surely prefer to celebrate with your friends…” 

“You’re my friend.” She hesitated. “Aren’t you?”

He was silent long enough that she began to panic. “Aye, I suppose I am,” he finally said in a low voice.

She sighed in relief. “Well, then. Celebrate my birthday with me.” 

He picked up the envelope, opening it with surprising care and pulling out the card. “You’re having it here?” he asked, surprised. 

“Yeah,” said Emma, examining her fingernails. “Granny’s is, um, more centrally located than my house. People won’t have to drive.” 

Which was the excuse she had given her parents, not wanting to confess the real reason: she knew that Killian would be far more likely to come if the party was at a neutral venue, and the only thing Emma truly wanted for her birthday this year was for Killian to come to her party. She didn’t think she could bear the disappointment if he refused. 

Killian’s fingers unconsciously worried the edge of the invitation, his thumbnail scraping the gilt off of the thick ivory card stock as he thought hard. He _really_ didn’t want to spend his Saturday evening watching Emma —probably wearing some little dress that left her long legs bare, like the cheerleading uniform he had to avert his eyes from every Friday— laughing with her friends and being groped possessively by her idiot boyfriend while he was either ignored or treated like an English-accented party favour. He opened his mouth to refuse, but as he did he looked up and the pleading expression in her eyes shook him hard. He shut his mouth again, cursing internally. This whole thing was getting seriously out of control. He already liked her far more than he should, if he started giving in to her pleas now who knew where that would end. But as little as he wanted to attend her birthday party, he wanted to hurt her feelings even less. 

“All right, Swan,” he heard himself saying. “I’ll be there. For a little while,” he added hastily as her face lit up with a brilliant smile. 

Just then Ruby appeared with their drinks. 

Emma, bursting with excitement, grinned up at he friend. “Hey Rubes, guess what?” she said happily, “Killian’s coming to my party!”

Ruby pursed her lips, and her brow wrinkled with a small frown as she considered the pair in the booth. Emma was clearly completely gone for this Killian. It was written all over her face every time she talked to him, and frankly it had Ruby worried. She supposed, she thought grudgingly, that she could understand his appeal. His face was pretty good and his eyes were gorgeous, and there was something kind of hot about his brooding smartass vibe, though she herself preferred older boys. Or girls, but for the moment that was still her secret. What she objected to about Killian wasn’t his looks or his personality, it was the way he seemed to hold himself back, resisting Emma’s attempts to befriend him. Ruby and Emma had been best friends practically since they were born, and she knew better than anyone that underneath Emma’s golden girl confidence beat a deeply sensitive heart, one that could easily be crushed in the wrong hands. If Killian crushed it, whether it be through malice or simple indifference, Ruby would rip him apart, without hesitation. 

Still, she reflected, pretty much anything would be better than Neal Cassidy, douchebag extraordinaire, who Ruby felt certain was cheating on Emma with the head cheerleader from Misthaven High. 

She glanced at Killian as she set down his mug, right in time to see his tense expression soften as Emma smiled at him, revealing for just a moment the same helpless fascination that Emma always had in her eyes when she looked at him. In that instant, Ruby made her decision and chose her side. 

“Great!” she said brightly, stifling a laugh at the surprised look Killian shot her. “You can keep my boyfriend Victor entertained. We’ve been to see you play in Misthaven a couple of times, and boy he has got _thoughts_ about that. Victor loves to talk about music and frankly it bores me to tears.”

“Er, okay,” said Killian, as Emma beamed. Ruby nodded, flashed him a bright smile, and headed back to the counter. 

“Victor’s a freshman at the university in Portland,” said Emma, once she was out of earshot. “He graduated from Storybrooke last year. Honestly, I’m surprised he and Ruby are still together. I never thought they’d be able to handle long-distance, but so far so good I guess.” She paused to take a sip of chocolate. “I think they might have an open relationship.” 

Killian had just taken a sip of his own drink, and promptly choked on it. Emma looked alarmed. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, love. Just a bit taken aback.” 

“What, city boy, you think all us hicks from the sticks are prudes?” she teased. “That we all save ourselves for marriage and then only do it once a month with the lights off?” She batted her eyelashes at him and Killian suddenly felt as if a lead weight were pressing down on his chest. 

 _That probably means she’s letting Cassidy_ … but he couldn’t finish the thought. The mere idea of that bullying moron touching her intimately made him sick, and filled him with the urge to punch something. 

“Not at all,” he said gruffly. “I figure people are pretty much just people wherever they’re from. You just caught me off guard, stating it so plainly.”  

Emma frowned. What she’d come to think of as Killian’s dark cloud, something that seemed to drop down on him periodically for no reason she could discern, had returned. She hated that cloud. It quenched the light in his eyes and replaced it with the look of an abused puppy, hopeless and desperately sad. 

She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Hey,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He stared at their joined hands for a long moment then swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” he replied, flashing her a brilliant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Killian—” 

“I said, I’m fine!” He pulled his hand away. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve got planned for this birthday party?”

Emma wanted to press him, to poke and prod at the barrier he’d constructed around himself until she found a weak spot, to send it crashing down and make him finally _talk_ to her about whatever he was keeping so tightly bottled up inside, but one look at his shuttered expression told her there was no point in trying. If she did, he might pull away again.  

She nodded, giving him a bright, false smile of her own. “Well,” she said, “To start…” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian was headed for Dr Hopper’s office after school the following Monday, when he realised that he was being tailed by Neal and two of his football buddies. They weren’t even being stealthy about it, he thought in disgust. There were herds of elephants stampeding across African plains that made less noise. 

Pretending he didn’t hear them, he walked casually past the psychiatrist’s door then quick as a flash ducked around a corner, ensuring that he had the brick wall of the buildings at his back. When the three boys caught up to him he was waiting for them, his stance relaxed but all his senses alert. He didn’t want to fight them but if they forced his hand they were in for an unpleasant surprise. Killian had learnt to fight from his father, a man who had never pulled a punch in his life. 

Neal stepped forward, all bluster and bravado. “I saw you at Granny’s yesterday. With Emma.” 

“What of it?”

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in her.” 

Killian shrugged. “I changed my mind.” 

“Yeah? Well you better change it back,” snarled Neal, stepping closer.  

Killian sighed. He was really not in the mood for this. “Look, _asshole_ ,” he said, deliberately using the American pronunciation, “Emma is not your possession. If she wants to hang out with me, that’s her choice. I didn’t seek her out but I like her, and I’ll be damned if I let you bully me into ending my friendship with her.” 

Neal snarled and shoved Killian’s chest, but Killian had been expecting that and had braced himself against it. When he didn’t fall or even stumble backwards, Neal looked incredulous. Fury lit in his eyes and he reared back to give a harder shove. This time Killian caught the shorter boy’s arms and used his own momentum to swing him into the brick wall behind them, the force of the impact making his head ring and knocking the air out of him. As he lay against the wall blinking dazed eyes and gasping for breath, Killian turned to the other two boys, holding his arms out wide. “Care to have a go yourselves, mates?” he challenged, careful not to sound too mocking. He wanted to deter them, not provoke them. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble for fighting. Liam would be bloody furious. 

The other boys looked back and forth between Neal collapsed against the wall and Killian’s implacable face. He raised an eyebrow at them, and that decided it. 

“Come on, Cassidy, let’s go,” said one. “We can’t fuck him up in the middle of Main Street anyway.” 

Neal peeled himself off the wall, trying to turn his wince of pain into a glare. “Just be watching your back, dickhead,” he sneered before following his friends. 

Killian waited until they were nearly out of sight before turning back around the corner and  heading into Dr Hopper’s office. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The party was well underway by the time Killian arrived. He stood outside Granny’s for a moment, steeling himself, then took a deep breath and opened the door. Immediately his senses were assaulted by a cacophany of voices and laughter and music from the jukebox, and he fought back the urge to flee. He was doing this for Emma, he reminded himself. For whatever insane reason she wanted him there, and he wouldn’t let her down. 

He surveyed the room in search of any familiar faces, then nearly jumped out of his skin when a slender arm wrapped around his neck from behind. 

“Hey,” said Ruby in his ear. “About time you showed up. She’s been waiting.” 

Killian’s heart thumped painfully at the idea of Emma waiting anxiously for him at her own birthday party. _Stop it,_ he told himself firmly. _She has a boyfriend, and anyway she deserves far better than you._ “Where is she?” he asked, trying not to croak.

Ruby grinned. “Come with me,” she said. “Oh, and by the way this is Victor.” She waved her hand at the boy standing next to her, who gave Killian a nod and a sardonic smirk. “He’s a big fan of your music.” 

“Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t use the word ‘big’ or even ‘fan,’” began Victor. “But—” 

“Save it,” said Ruby, as the crowd parted to reveal Emma sitting at a small table in the middle of the diner, surrounded by what looked like half the cheerleading squad. She was laughing but something in her body language seemed tense and worried. Then she caught sight of Killian and her whole being seemed to light up. 

 _Bloody hell,_ he thought, fighting back the renewed urge to run, _I am so fucked_. 

She leapt to her feet and hurried over. “Hey,” she said. “You came.” 

“Of course I did, Swan, I said I would.” 

“I know, but…” she shook her head. “Never mind, you’re here now. Do you want something to drink?”

“Sure.” 

She led him to the counter. “Anything on Granny’s menu is available,” she said. 

“Um, just a soda is fine.” 

“Root beer?” she teased, knowing his opinion on that subject. 

He made a comically exaggerated grimace. “Swan, if I wanted to be given disgusting medicine I’d go to the doctor. I’ll have a Coke.” 

“Try the vanilla kind, Granny mixes it herself and it’s really good.” 

He smiled at her. “All right.” 

She smiled back and leaned across the counter to order the drink. When she turned back her eyebrows snapped together into a scowl. 

“What is it?” asked Killian, alarmed. 

“Nothing,” she said, anger in her voice. “I— I’ll be right back.” 

She marched across the room to the jukebox, behind which Neal was standing with Felix and Rufio, tipping something from a small bottle into their drinks. 

“ _Neal_ ,” she hissed. 

“Heeeeey, Ems!” he slurred, grabbing her arm. “Y’wanna real drink?”

“Did you bring _alcohol_ to my _birthday_ _party_?” she snapped. 

“‘Course. Not a real party with nothing to drink.” 

Emma resisted the urge to slap him. “You can’t have that here! Get rid of it right now, and you three sober up!” She was trying hard to keep calm and not draw any attention to them, but this was her eighteenth birthday, darn it, and Neal was threatening to ruin it. 

“Don’t be such a priss, Emma,” he sneered. 

“My _father_ is the _sheriff_ ,” she hissed “Do you have any idea what he would do if he found out you had that?”

“I’m not scared of your father,” blustered Neal. 

“Well, you should be! He won’t hesitate to bust you, quarterback or no. Please, Neal,” she begged, “It’s my birthday. Please don’t do this tonight!” 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll dump it.” 

She sighed in relief, missing the smirk and eye roll he exchanged with Felix, and kissed his cheek. “Thanks.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, Emma was leaning against Ruby’s shoulder, listening to Killian and Victor arguing about a band that neither of the girls had ever heard of when the door opened and David stepped in, followed by two of his deputies. He headed straight for the foursome, his expression grim. 

“Dad?” said Emma, a sudden anxiety gripping her. Why was he here, and wearing his badge? “Wh— what’s going on?”

David ignored her. “Killian,” he said, in his Sheriff voice. “Empty your pockets.” 

Emma’s eyes flew to Killian, blown wide with alarm, but he looked as unruffled as always and gave her a small, reassuring smile. 

“Sure,” he said. He pulled a wallet, some keys, and his phone from his jacket pocket, then turned out the pockets of his jeans to reveal nothing but a crumpled handkerchief. 

David looked surprised, but recovered quickly and gave Killian a relieved smile. “Thank you,” he said. 

“Dad, what’s this about?” asked Emma. 

“We got an anonymous call from someone saying that there was alcohol at your party,” her father replied. “That Killian had brought it.” 

Emma nearly choked on a sudden surge of fury. _Neal_.

Ruby snorted. “I bet I know who called that in,” she said. “You’d have more luck checking Neal Cassidy’s pockets, Sheriff Swan. Or one of his minions.” 

David turned to where Neal was sitting at the counter a few feet away. “Well?” he said. “Turn out your pockets, please, Mr Cassidy.” 

Neal smirked. “Sure,” he said, echoing Killian’s word, and pulled a handful of crumpled bills and loose change along with a condom from his jeans. Emma felt Killian stiffen next to her, but she didn’t take her eyes off Neal, who was smirking smugly at her father. 

“See?” he said. “Nothing.” 

“And what about this?” asked David, indicating the letter jacket tossed across the counter. Neal waved his hand at it.

“Go ahead, man. Take a look.” 

David picked up the jacket and reached into the pocket. Anger hardened his features as he pulled forth the bottle of vodka Emma had seen Neal with earlier. “Care to explain this?” he asked tightly. 

Neal’s eyes widened and he began to bluster. “I— I don’t know how— that’s not— that’s not mine!” 

David gestured to one of the deputies, who pulled out an evidence bag. David deposited the bottle into it then looked hard at Neal. “I’m going to need you to come to the station,” he said. “All three of you.” 

“What did we do?” protested Felix. 

“I can smell the alcohol on you from here,” said David, his eyes flashing, revealing just a hint of the fury Emma knew he must be feeling. “You brought illegal substances to my daughter’s birthday party, and I suspect you tried to frame an innocent boy for possession of them. Now come. with. me.” 

Neal swallowed hard, looking small and scared. He wobbled as he stood up from the stool, and Emma darted forwards to catch his arm before he fell. 

“You and I are done,” she hissed at him, fingernails digging ruthlessly into his arm. “Never speak to me again.” She shoved him roughly and he stumbled back into Felix and Rufio. 

David stood at the door, holding it open. 

“Don’t make me wait,” he said. 

The three boys filed out of the diner and David let his eyes sweep the room, his expression stern and hard. “I am trusting the rest of you to behave in a way that will not disappoint me or your parents or yourselves,” he said. “If I hear even the smallest hint that anything else that shouldn’t be going on at this party _is_ going on, you will not enjoy the consequences. Have a good night.” He turned and exited the diner, leaving dead silence in his wake. Even the jukebox had stopped playing. Slowly, every head in the place turned to look at Killian, whose cool composure slipped slightly under the collective scrutiny. He scratched nervously behind his ear. 

“He, erm, put the bottle in my pocket about half an hour ago,” he said, addressing the diner at large. “He’s as subtle as a sledgehammer, so of course I noticed. I returned the favour, with rather more finesse.” 

No one spoke for several beats, and Killian began to turn pink. Finally, Ruby broke the silence. “What about fingerprints?” she asked. 

Killian held up his handkerchief, which was still sitting on the table in front of him. “I wrapped it in this,” he said. 

Ruby grinned, looking impressed, and Victor began to laugh. “Damn, Jones, you work with James Bond or something?” 

Killian grinned back. “Only at weekends,” he quipped, and the tension was broken. Laughter broke out around the room and someone shouted “Turn the music back on!” 

People began to mill around Killian, peppering him with questions, and Emma spotted several of her fellow cheerleaders eyeing him with sharpened interest. She allowed this to go on for precisely two minutes before grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the crowd. “Stop harassing him, you guys,” she said. “You’ll blow his cover.” More laughter followed this remark and people turned away, allowing Emma to pull Killian out of the diner and up the stairs into the lounge of Granny’s B&B. 

He was looking nervous again, and she smiled. “I broke up with Neal.” 

“I heard.” 

“I’m so sorry, Killian, I can’t believe he tried to do that to you.” 

Killian snorted. “I can,” he said. “He’s a complete gobshite. Arrogance and stupidity are a bad combination.” He looked at her, his eyes softening with an emotion that made her heart gallop. “You deserve so much better.” 

She stepped closer to him, placing her hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palms thundering as hard as her own. He caught his breath sharply but didn’t pull away. 

“You also deserve better than me,” he said firmly. 

“Killian—”

“Emma, I was serious about what I said to you that day in the hall. I can’t stay here. I have to get back to England as soon as I can.”

“Why?” she cried, exasperated. “What’s so important?”

“I— I can’t tell you that.” 

She wanted to snarl and gnash her teeth in frustration. “But—”

“No! I just have to go, okay? As soon as the AP exam results are out, then Liam can’t stop me even though I won’t be eighteen yet.” He saw her confused look and clarified. “I have a conditional offer from Oxford already, I just need high enough scores and I can start uni next year. Even if I don’t get the scores I— I’ll think of something. But I’m not staying in Storybrooke, Emma, no matter what. Do you understand that?”

She could sense the conflict in him, knew that once again he was trying to convince himself as much as her. But she simply nodded in agreement. Whatever was troubling him, whatever secret he was keeping, she was confident that if he’d just let her in then they could work it out together. She had to be patient. 

“I understand,” she said, letting her fingertips trace the band logo on his t-shirt. “But you’re here now, and next year is a long way off.” 

His blue eyes blazed as he looked down at her. “Emma,” he whispered, both in warning and entreaty. “Please don’t. You don’t— you don’t know—”

“I’m not a child, Killian. I’m older than you, and I know what I’m doing.” 

There was an edge of desperation in his answering laugh. “Do you? That’s good, because I bloody well don’t.” 

“Then let me show you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her fingertips brush through the hair at its nape, and pressed her lips to his. For a moment he was motionless, and she felt a flash of fear that he might find the strength to reject her. But then his arms were around her and his lips were moving against hers, and she had a second to observe that he was really surprisingly good at this before his tongue swept into her mouth and wiped every coherent thought from her mind. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not trying to be a tease, but I'm afraid that Killian is going to keep his secret for a few more chapters at least. But! There have already been quite a few hints about what it might be, and this chapter is chock full of them. Let the speculation begin!

Killian sat on the sofa in Dr Hopper’s office, staring at his hands. The psychiatrist waited as patiently as he could. It was taking longer than he’d expected to establish trust with this boy. Killian was remarkably guarded with his true self and by far the most intelligent person Dr Hopper had ever counselled; he was able to anticipate most of the doctor’s questions and to evade them with a smirk and a clever twist of wordplay. It was tempting to write him off as a garden-variety cocky smartass, but Dr Hopper could sense the pain beneath the smirk and knew from his discussions with Liam what Killian was likely suffering. He wanted to help the boy, but Killian was not making that easy.

Today, for the first time, something was different. Killian’s emotions were much closer to the surface, almost visibly bubbling beneath his skin. Something was clearly troubling him, something new and recent. So Dr Hopper waited, carefully not pushing.

“I kissed Emma,” said Killian suddenly, the confession almost bursting from him.

Dr Hopper concealed his astonishment with effort. “Emma Swan?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. There was only one Emma in Storybrooke, so it must be her, but she and Killian seemed an unlikely pair.

“Yeah,” said Killian, still addressing his hands. “You remember before, I told you there was a girl… the one friend I had at school.” He looked up, and Dr Hopper nodded encouragingly. “Well, that’s her.”

“And you kissed her?”

“Yeah. I mean, she kissed me first, but I definitely kissed her back.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Killian hesitated for a long moment. “I don’t _know!_ ” he finally burst out, his face twisting in distress. “I’ve been thinking about it pretty much nonstop since it happened, and still don’t know what to do. I mean, I _really_ like her, and she’s made it clear she likes me, but… she’s just so… she’s so…” He groped for the words, and again Dr Hopper waited. “She’s so beautiful,” he said finally, his voice dropping so low it was nearly inaudible. “And kind and funny and smart and just— just perfect. I can’t— I can’t drag her down to my level.”

“And why do you feel you are so far beneath her?”

Killian gave him a sardonic smirk. “You’ve talked to my brother,” he said. “You know what I did. How could _I_ touch Emma after that? How could I even _think_ it?” He held himself stiffly as he spoke, as if waiting for judgement, for condemnation. Dr Hopper offered neither.

“So I’m hearing you say that you think what you did was bad?”

Alarm flickered across Killian’s face, followed by pain and shame and finally determination as he closed himself off again, locking away his emotions. Leaning back on the sofa, he propped a foot on the coffee table in front of it and shrugged one shoulder, the cocky smirk back in place. “It ended badly,” he said carelessly. “But I’ll fix that when I get back to England.”

Dr Hopper swallowed his frustration, reminding himself that today had been a breakthrough, albeit a short-lived one. “And what about Emma?” he prodded, hoping the risk would bear fruit.

It did. Killian’s cocky composure slipped away and for the first time in their acquaintance Dr Hopper thought he actually looked like what he was: a sensitive, troubled sixteen year old boy, lost and hurting and too young for what he was dealing with.

Killian looked down at his hands again. “I guess I’ll just ghost her,” he said, sounding like he hated the words even as he spoke them. “It won’t be easy since we have classes together and fencing club, but it’s the best way.”

“But if she likes you as you said, won’t that hurt her feelings?”

Killian swallowed hard, looking as though he wanted to cry. “Better to hurt her a little bit now than a lot later,” he said hoarsely. “She’ll get over it.”

Dr Hopper leaned forward, squaring his shoulders so he was facing Killian directly. Almost against his will, the boy looked up. Dr Hopper smiled kindly, holding his gaze. “Killian, I know that you don’t like taking advice, but I’m going to offer you some anyway and I hope you at least consider it. From what you’ve said it sounds like Emma truly cares for you, and that is something you need in your life. You’re right that she’s a kind person, I’m sure if you tell her you just want to be friends, she’ll understand. You don’t have to tell her everything, just that you don’t want your relationship to be romantic. But don’t cut her out of your life. That will accomplish nothing except to hurt both of you.”

Killian nodded, and smiled a real smile for the first time. “I’ll think about that,” he said. “Thanks, Dr Hopper.”

Dr Hopper resisted the somewhat uncharacteristic urge to cheer. “You’re welcome, Killian,” he said. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several minutes later, Killian left Dr Hopper’s office and headed for Granny’s, so deep in thought that he entirely failed to notice Neal, who had darted behind a bush when he’d emerged through the door, smiling gleefully as he absorbed the juicy bit of information that Emma’s new _friend_ was seeing the shrink. Resentment bordering on hatred simmered in Neal’s gut as he watched the taller boy cross the street and enter the diner. He owed Killian big time for getting him in trouble for drinking, getting him fucking suspended from the football team, he thought. The smug little shit needed to _pay_ for that, and now Neal had an idea of how to exact his vengeance. There had to be a reason why Killian was seeing Dr Hopper, all Neal had to do was find out what it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian found Emma exactly where he knew she’d be: sitting in a booth at Granny’s with her cheerleader friends, sharing some onion rings. They always came here after their practice; more than once Emma had invited him to come along, but he’d declined. She saw him immediately when he entered, her face lighting up with a relieved smile that doubled the weight of guilt in his chest. She should be furious with him for the way he’d acted, instead she looked thrilled to see him. Seriously, _what_ was he supposed to do with a girl like that?

He marched determinedly over to her, ignoring the speculative looks her friends were giving him. “Can we talk, Swan?” he asked.

She nodded, already sliding out of the booth, smiling, standing far too close. “Should we go upstairs?” she asked, in a voice that only he could hear, and he felt a stab of alarm before he noticed the mischief dancing in her eyes.

“You’re teasing me,” he said. “I suppose that’s a good sign. Let’s go sit outside.”

Emma grabbed her coat and followed him to a table just inside the fence that surrounded Granny’s outdoor seating area. She was intensely relieved to see him. He hadn’t been at fencing club the day before or at school that day, and she’d been so worried she’d nearly ditched school herself and gone to find him.

He took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology,” he said.

“Killian—”

“No, I do. I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

For a few short, precious minutes after he’d begun to kiss her back on Saturday night everything in Emma’s world had been perfect. His lips on hers had been soft and hot, his tongue in her mouth a revelation. Emma had never been kissed like that before, like the kiss was being done _with_ her and not _to_ her. With Neal it had always been like grappling with a determined octopus, but with Killian it was almost a dance. He took the lead, guiding but never pushing her, giving even more than he took, one hand resting at the small of her back and the other in her hair as their lips clung and their tongues stroked, making her head spin and her entire body tingle. Then abruptly he had pushed her away, or rather pulled himself away, Emma had realised after replaying the whole thing in her head half a dozen times. He had pulled himself away, breathing hard, his hands shaking and his eyes wide and almost terrified.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said, his tone begging for understanding, but understanding of _what_ she’d had no clue. _She_ had kissed _him_ , so why should he apologise? But he had leapt back when she’d tried to touch his arm and fled from the room, disappearing completely until five minutes ago when he’d strolled into Granny’s looking nervous but determined.

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Emma, I don’t want you to think that I don’t like you, because I _do_ , far more than I should, but I can’t date you.”

“What makes you think I want you to?” asked Emma, reacting to the stab of hurt she felt before she could think.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I did kind of assume from the way you laid one on me Saturday night that you wanted to be more than friends. Was I mistaken?”

She shrugged, torn between wanting him to know how she felt and wanting to protect herself from what she was certain would be rejection. “Maybe I do,” she replied in a small voice. “Do you not?”

Killian heard the hurt in her voice and it twisted in his gut, shaking him into admitting more than he’d planned. “I _do_ want it, I’d be an idiot not to, I just— I can’t.” He clenched his fists in frustration, desperate for her to understand but unable to explain without telling her things that would make her hate him. “I wish things were different, Emma, I really do, but they’re not and I can’t change them, and please, I want to be friends but I can’t give you more than that. I’m sorry.”

She was silent for so long he began to panic, then she nodded. “I won’t say I understand because I don’t, but I appreciate you coming here and telling me the truth,” she said. “And while we’re being honest, I should tell you that I know you’re hiding something, something big and scary that’s eating away at you.” He started to reply, but she cut him off. “I’m not going to try to force you to talk about it,” she assured him, “but if you ever do want to talk, Killian, whatever it is, I’ll listen. And of course we can be friends, if that’s what you need.” Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand over his fist, relief rushing through her when he gripped it hard. “I’m always here for you,” she said softly. “No matter what.” 

His eyes were brimming with emotions, so many that she couldn’t make out what they were. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “Why do you bother with me?”

“I—” she began, then cut herself off. Some confessions were not for Granny’s outside tables. “I guess I just like you,” she said with a small smile.

He returned it. “I doubt I’ll ever understand why,” he said wryly. “But I’m not going to turn down such a gift.” He squeezed her hand once more before withdrawing his. “I should go, I was supposed to be home half an hour ago, Liam will be worrying. See you in school tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma went home herself after Killian left, no longer in the mood to laugh with her friends. Although she was glad they’d cleared the air between them, there was still a heavy lump of disappointment and hurt in her chest, one she didn’t have any idea how to deal with.

“Something wrong, Duckling?” asked her father, coming into the living room to find her sprawled on the sofa staring at the ceiling.

“No,” she replied automatically, and David looked at her sharply.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “You know you can always talk to me if there is.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, then sat up. “It’s Killian.”

“What about him?” asked David cautiously. His daughter’s crush on Killian had been painfully obvious for weeks now, and while David generally approved —certainly a smart, thoughtful boy like Killian was vastly preferable to that little shit Neal Cassidy— if Killian did anything to hurt his baby girl David would make certain he lived to regret it.

“I kissed him,” said Emma.

David’s brows snapped together in a scowl, and he had to forcibly remind himself that Emma was eighteen now, she was going to kiss boys. He knew she’d at least kissed Neal, if not more, though he didn’t allow himself to think about that. He trusted Emma to make good decisions, and also Snow worried about his blood pressure. “Did you,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

She nodded. “I kissed him and he kissed me back, and it was just so completely  _wonderful_. But then he got upset and left, and now he says he just wants to be friends.” She took a deep, unsteady breath as tears formed in her eyes. “He’s got something he’s hiding, something that’s hurting him, and it hurts me to see it. It’s holding him back somehow, eating him up and I— I just— I can’t stand to see it. I think I might love him. Oh, God, that sounds crazy doesn’t it?”

“No, of course not, sweetie,” said David, moving over to sit next to her and pulling her into a hug. He remembered the overwhelming power of teenage puppy love all too well; he and Snow had been even younger than Emma when it had hit them.

Emma sobbed into her father’s shoulder, wishing she could crawl into his lap as she had done as a little girl. “I know it’s silly to be so upset just because he doesn’t feel the same,” she said. “But it just _hurts_.”

David frowned. He was pretty sure that Killian did feel the same; he had seen the way they interacted at fencing club, the way they looked at each other, and he’d seen the look they’d exchanged before Killian emptied his pockets at the party. If Emma had made her interest plain and Killian had turned her down there must be a serious reason for that. Teenage boys simply didn’t say no when pretty girls asked them out. Particularly not pretty girls they were clearly crazy about.

David thought hard. He’d had a few conversations with Liam Jones and had found him a pleasant young man, but his deliberate vagueness on the subject of what had brought him to Storybrooke now took on a somewhat sinister aspect. It might not hurt to do a bit of digging, David thought. He liked Killian and was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, but if there was something he was hiding that could hurt Emma, David wanted to know what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit short, this chapter, and only lightly edited, but it's needed to set up the stuff that's coming...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No secret quite yet, but more clues! Plus Brothers Jones and Emma. I have to give special thanks to @darkcolinodonorgasm for giving me a new perspective on Liam, who I’ve never particularly liked as a character. I hope you like him here!

It was astounding and rather disturbing to Killian how different his life at Storybrooke High became after Emma’s party. Where before he had been largely able to repel his classmates by hiding behind his laptop and headphones, turning Neal’s attempted frame job around on him seemed to have garnered Killian something of a reputation. Suddenly everyone was interested in knowing him better. People he didn’t think he’d ever even seen before were now greeting him by name in the halls, and the giggling girls who were so fascinated by hearing him pronounce simple words had unaccountably multiplied. He took to hiding out in a quiet corner of the library at lunchtime, just to get some peace. Fortunately the library was a bridge too far for most of his newfound fans, and only Emma managed to hunt him down there. 

He didn’t mind that so much. 

“I was worried people would be mad when Neal got suspended from the football team and blame you,” Emma confessed to him one Friday lunchtime in November, about three weeks after her party. “But it turns out everyone pretty much hated him and only put up with his crap because he won football games. And it helps that August has really come through. He’s a junior, and never had much chance to play until now because Neal hogged all the game time, but I really think he’s got more talent than Neal. He’s better at calling plays and doesn’t throw so many dumb interceptions because he’s trying to make a big play to make himself look good. And our running game has gotten way better because Neal always wanted to run passing plays, even on third and short yardage. It was seriously annoying sometimes.”

“Swan,” said Killian in exasperation, “You do know that I only understand about one out of every three of those words, and no one has yet been able satisfactorily to explain to me why a you call this game ‘football’ when only one player’s foot ever even touches the ball. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Emma laughed. “Sure. You doing anything this weekend?”

Killian flushed pink. “I’m going sailing with my brother, then we’re cooking dinner together.” 

“That sounds great,” said Emma, wondering why he looked so embarrassed. “Any special occasion?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “It’s my birthday,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. 

“ _What?!_ ” 

“It’s my birthday, okay? Today, actually. But of course I have school and Liam has work, so we’re celebrating tomorrow.” He noted with alarm her wide eyes and excited face. “Emma, no,” he begged. “Please don’t make a big deal about this.”

“But it’s your birthday!” 

“And I just want it to be a low-key day, no big celebration, no stress.” 

She tried not to feel deflated. “Just you and your brother.” 

“Unless you’d care to come along?” Killian tried not to sound too hopeful, tried not to _be_ too hopeful, though the idea of spending a whole Saturday with Emma, even with Liam along as well, was just about the best birthday gift he could imagine. 

“Could I?” asked Emma, not troubling to hide her own hopefulness. 

“Um, do you want to?”

“Well… yeah, actually. It sounds really fun. I haven’t been sailing in ages, and I’d kinda like to meet your brother. You talk about him so much I feel like I know him already.” 

“Funny, he says the same about you,” said Killian without thinking. 

“You talk to your brother about me?”

She had that look in her eyes again, the one she’d had at her party right before she kissed him. The one that said she wanted to kiss him again. The one that made him want to let her. Killian gave himself a mental slap. _Damn it, no!_ “Well, you are basically my only friend, Swan, who else would I talk about?” he said, attempting to cover his slip. 

“Maybe I _was_ your only friend, but you seem to have acquired quite a few little admirers lately.” She sounded disgruntled, and he felt absurdly pleased. 

“You’re still my only friend,” he assured her. “And I would be honoured to have you accompany Liam and me on my birthday sailing trip. And to dinner too, if you like.” 

“Didn’t you say you’re cooking together?” she said hesitantly. “I’m not much of a cook.” 

“No, nor I, but Liam is a master of the barbecue, so we’re going to do steaks.” 

“What, outside?” He nodded. “In November? In Maine?”

“We’re from England, love, if we let a little miserable weather deter us from barbecuing we’d never get steak.”

“All right,” she laughed. In that case, I’d love to.” 

His answering smile was radiant, sending the familiar butterflies dancing through her belly, this time in a sophisticated cha-cha-cha. She wanted to kiss him so badly when he looked like this that resisting the urge took a physical effort. 

“We’re scheduled to cast off at ten, so why don’t you meet us at the marina at nine forty-five?” he said. 

“Okay,” she agreed, just as the bell rang signalling the end of lunchtime. They gathered their things and walked to their history class together, not holding hands but both definitely _thinking_ about it, wishing they could, their arms hanging loose at their sides, hands as close as they could get without actually touching. Upon arrival they went to their desks at opposite sides of the classroom, their history teacher having assigned seats at the beginning of the semester. Emma scowled slightly as she watched Killian take his seat between Aurora and Tina, two juniors who had always giggled to each other over him but whose flirting had reached new hights of coquetry In the weeks since the party. She watched as they peppered him with questions and he smiled and charmed them with his replies, and she couldn’t believe they didn’t see how tense he was beneath the charm and how he visibly relaxed when the teacher stood up and started the class, drawing their attention away from him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what time is your girlfriend getting here?” shouted Liam, loud enough to wake the dead. 

Killian sighed. He knew that Liam was just trying to lighten the mood with his teasing but really wished he wouldn’t. His brother knew perfectly well that Emma wasn’t Killian’s girlfriend. What he didn’t know is how the knowledge that she _could_ be tormented Killian, and how any teasing on that point just drove the knife point deeper into his heart. Knowing that he could have her, her smiles and her kisses and her hand in his as they walked through the halls at school, that all that and more was within his reach if he could only forget about all the reasons why he couldn’t take it ate away at him. If he could just bring himself not to care about the consequences, to be a heartless bastard who didn’t give a damn about anyone else, then he could have what he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life. 

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he longed for Emma, he couldn’t do it. 

Liam was thrilled he’d made a friend, and that the friend was a girl. He thought it meant that Killian was forgetting, moving on, and that Emma actually becoming his girlfriend was only a matter of time. 

But Liam didn’t know the worst of it, the full weight of the burden Killian carried, bearing it alone because he didn’t dare share it. As much as he wished to tell Liam or Dr Hopper or Emma or anyone —really, _anyone_ , as long as it wouldn’t be his alone to carry anymore— he was too scared of what they might do, of the potential consequences of people bumbling in trying to fix what they didn’t understand. _He_ would fix it, when he got back to England. It had to be him. 

It had been four months. Another five to go. Nearly eight until the AP exam results would be released. Killian felt panic rising in him at the thought of that three month gap, but he swallowed it back. It would be okay. He forced himself to breathe deeply, calmly. It would be okay. He would fix it. 

Before he could answer Liam’s question, Emma’s yellow bug swung into a parking space right near where their boat was moored. She hopped out, smiling brightly, and Killian’s heart leapt and tumbled in his chest. She was so impossibly beautiful, he thought, so beautiful and bright and pure and good, and just everything he could ever wish for in a girl. Everything he could have had if he hadn’t made made such terrible mistakes, hadn’t completely fucked up his life before it had even really begun. But he pushed those thoughts away. She was here now, to celebrate his birthday with him, and he intended to enjoy what time he had with her. He grinned foolishly as she approached, keeping his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets to stop himself reaching for her. 

She was dressed in chinos and deck shoes and a bright red woollen coat, with a beanie on her head and a large scarf wrapped around her neck. She laughed. “It’s freaking freezing out here, Jones,” she said. “And it’ll be even colder on the water. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s not cold, Swan, it’s bracing,” he said firmly, and she laughed again. He was so caught up in the delightful sound of it that he didn’t notice Liam appearing at his elbow until his brother loudly cleared his throat. Killian glanced over, grimacing at Liam’s appraising look and raised eyebrow. 

“Um, Emma, this is my brother Liam,” he said grudgingly.  

“Mr Jones,” said Emma, flushing slightly and looking suddenly nervous. 

Liam’s smile widened. “Call me Liam, I beg you,” he said. “There must be no undue formality between the only two people in the world able to stomach the company of my little brother.” 

He elbowed Killian, who rolled his eyes. “ _Younger_ brother,” he muttered, not quite under his breath. 

Liam chuckled and gestured for Emma to follow him onto the boat. “So, Emma, what sort of sailing experience do you have?”

“Well, my dad has a boat.” 

“Ah, yes, Sheriff Swan. He’s been down here a few times.” 

“Yeah, when I was little we used to go sailing quite a lot, but for the past couple of years it seems like we never have the time.” 

“Your father mentioned you were busy with cheerleading and college applications.”

“Yeah, that’s mostly it.” 

“Where are you planning to study?”

“I’m hoping for Columbia, or else NYU or Boston University.” 

“Any ideas about your major?”

Killian scowled as his brother drew Emma away, busying her with pre-sailing tasks as they chatted. How the hell did Liam know so much about American universities all of a sudden, he wondered crossly. He’d only just learned what a major was himself. 

“I’d like to do psychology, maybe with a criminal justice minor. I’m thinking of being a forensic psychologist.” 

Killian’s scowl deepened. She’d never told him that. Of course, they’d never really discussed their plans for the future aside from his intention to return to England. Suddenly he felt desperately sad, realising that he’d likely never know if Emma achieved her goals. 

Though he had little doubt that she would. She was brilliant and determined, there wouldn’t be much she couldn’t do. If only he could be there to see her succeed. 

“Ahoy there, Killian, don’t just stand there like a lump!” shouted Liam. “Come and help us prepare to set sail. You check the sheets while Emma tells us what exactly a forensic psychologist does.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sailed out to the edge of Storybrooke’s cape then around the harbour before heading back to their mooring. It was just as cold as Emma had feared, the icy wind whipping her hair into a frenzy and turning the tips of Killian’s ears so red that she worried he’d get frostbite. Pulling her beanie off her head, she thrust it at him. “Put this on,” she commanded. 

“What?”

“Put the hat on, idiot, before your ears fall off.” 

“And what about your ears, Swan?”

“I’ve got my scarf. See?” She wrapped the scarf over her head and around her neck, securing it underneath the collar of her coat. “It’s actually better like this because it holds my hair down. Now put on the damn hat.” 

“Such language, princess,” he teased, pulling the hat on over his ears, where it looked just ridiculously cute. “I’ve never heard you curse so fluently. Is it the influence of us rough seamen?” He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed, throwing back her head and shoving him playfully in the chest. 

Liam watched their byplay, not bothering to hide his delighted grin. It warmed his heart to see his brother smiling like that again, and after meeting Emma he had no qualms about encouraging their relationship. They were both so obviously smitten, the looks they gave each other so positively brimming with teenage angst and longing that Liam felt it could only be a matter of time before Killian finally gave in and asked her out properly. He had clung far longer than Liam had expected to this obligation he seemed to feel towards Milah Gold, but that was firmly in the past now, and Liam had no intention of letting his brother stumble down a similar path ever again. Killian was seeing Dr Hopper regularly and making good progress, according to the psychiatrist’s reports. He was getting good marks in school, seemed to enjoy playing his music again, and now he had a pretty girl his age who was clearly crazy about him. The tight knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in Liam’s chest the previous summer and had been his constant companion ever since eased slightly. The decision to move Killian to America despite his vehement protests had been the right one, Liam was more sure of that now than ever. His little brother was healing, slowly, but he would get there. Soon he would be his old self again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well past eleven when Emma finally dragged herself away from the Jones house after one of the single best days she could remember, sailing and grilling and eating steak and loaded baked potatoes and birthday cake until she couldn’t eat any more. Killian had played his guitar and Liam had sung along; even she had joined in after considerable coaxing and teasing from both of them. She didn’t think she’d ever laughed so hard in her life. Resolutely, she ignored the plaintive voice in her head urging her to stay _just a few minutes longer_ , knowing that she needed time to drive slowly through the icy streets in order to make it home for her midnight curfew. 

Killian walked her to her car. “Thanks for coming today, Emma,” he said softly, taking the beanie from his pocket and pulling it down onto her head, letting his fingertips brush through her hair as he did. “It was the best birthday I’ve had in a while.” 

“I had a great time,” she replied. He dropped his hands from her hair but she caught them and placed them on her hips, stepping closer and leaning her head against his shoulder, smiling as she heard him catch his breath. She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding her own breath for an anxious few seconds until he finally pulled her close, his arms enclosing her tightly. Sighing, she melted into the hug. “Happy birthday, Killian,” she whispered.  

They stood like that for as long as Emma dared, until finally she knew she had to get going. As she started to pull back Killian’s arms tightened around her almost reflexively, as if not wishing to let her go. She looked up at him, their faces so close there was barely a breath between them, and _willed_ him to kiss her. 

She knew it had to be his move. She’d made the last one, now it was up to him. 

He swayed towards her, his eyes fixed on her lips as his own parted slightly, and she fisted her hands in his coat, forcing herself to wait. She could almost feel the conflict within him as he struggled against his attraction to her, and against whatever he was holding inside that wouldn’t allow him to act on it. The tension stretched her nerves tight and the butterflies performed an energetic jitterbug in her belly until Killian seemed to pull himself out of a trance, blinking rapidly and shaking himself and then abruptly his arms were gone and he was stepping away. 

“Drive safely, love,” he said hoarsely. 

Emma hid her disappointment behind a bright smile. “See you at fencing club tomorrow?” she asked, her own voice lower than normal. 

“I’ll be there.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside the door of Dr Hopper’s office, Neal waited. This time of year darkness fell quite early in Maine, and the sun had long since set by the time the psychiatrist went home for the day, whistling as he went. The office door closed behind him with a decisive click and he followed an eager Pongo to the exit, not noticing the boy hidden in the deep shadows of the darkened hallway. 

Once he was sure he was alone Neal knelt in front of the door, withdrawing a set of lock picks from his pocket and quickly jimmying the door open. _No security at all_ , he thought scornfully. You’d think the man guarding Storybrooke’s darkest secrets would have a sturdier lock. He hurried to the filing cabinet, picking that lock just as easily, and soon he had in his hands the thick manila file bearing the name of Killian Jones. Placing it on the coffee table, he made himself comfortable on the sofa and flipped the file open, illuminating its contents with the flashlight from his phone. 

Several minutes later he sat back, feeling gleeful and exhilarated, and thoroughly pleased with himself. This was fucking _huge_ and with it he could annihilate Killian, not just at school but also with Emma. There was no way she would forgive him. Not a prissy little prude like her. Not for this. 

Grinning smugly, he snapped a few pictures with his phone then returned the file to the cabinet and locked everything behind him as he left. For the first time in his life, he couldn't wait to get back to school. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get the secret in the next chapter, I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super quick, I know, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and I really need this story out of my freaking head so I can concentrate on other things. Be forewarned: Although I always had a general idea for what had happened to Killian before he came to Storybrooke, this wrote itself into a bit of a darker place than I’d intended. Most of that will actually appear in the next chapter, but this one does contain mentions of a dubious-consent scenario, due to the ages of the people involved and other factors.

Neal swaggered into school on Monday morning, looking like anything but a boy who’d not only been suspended for a month but also ignominiously dumped by his girlfriend in public. 

“What’s the douchebag extraordinaire looking so smug about?” asked Ruby. “Did he kick a puppy on his way in this morning?”

“Who cares?” replied Emma, not even bothering to look. She truly could not be less interested in whatever Neal had up his sleeve. It was hard even to imagine now what she had ever seen in him or why she had allowed him to be so overbearing and dismissive of her for so long. Now that she had gotten to know Killian, experienced his genuine interest in her thoughts and ideas, felt the flame of emotion — _was_ it love?— that burned brighter and hotter the more time she spent with him, Neal and his petty self-aggrandizement and jealousies just seemed so pointless. 

When he sauntered over and flung his arm around her shoulder like nothing had happened her skin actually crawled. Fury surged through her and she shoved him away with all her strength, the muscles honed by weeks of fencing finally paying off. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed. “How dare you even come _near_ me after what you tried to do to Killian?”

“Oh, _Killian,_ ” mocked Neal. “Of course, _Killian_ , your precious boo, it’s all about him now. So, hey, I was wondering, did your sweet little twoo wuv ever tell you why he moved here?”

Emma frowned, startled by the odd non-sequitur. “No, why would he?”

“Ha,” said Neal, “Of course he wouldn’t want you to know about it. Did you even know he was seeing the shrink?”

“What? Do you mean Dr Hopper?”

“Oh yeah. Seems there’s an awful lot your bae hasn’t told you. Good thing you’ve got me to uncover the lies. I got hold of his records and guess what? Sweet _Killian_ came to Storybrooke because he had to leave England after he got his brother kicked out of the British Navy.” 

“ _What?_ ”

“See for yourself.” He held out his phone. Emma took it, jaw dropping as she read the document he had photographed in Dr Hopper’s office. 

“Yup. Turns out your boy was fucking the wife of his brother’s commanding officer. Not so sweet after all.”

“His wife? But she must have been ancient!” cried Ruby, peering at the phone over Emma’s shoulder. 

“Twenty-five. Says here she was the second wife. It’s actually a pretty badass move, I’m almost impressed.” 

It didn’t sound badass to Emma. It sounded abusive. What would a twenty-five year old woman even _want_ with a sixteen year old boy? A woman whose husband had power over his brother’s career? She wanted to cry. No wonder Killian was so closed off, so hesitant to let anyone in. No wonder he’d resisted her advances. He must have trusted this woman and it had somehow led to Liam losing his commission. Killian must feel so guilty. She had seen firsthand how much he loved his brother, idolised him really, despite his grumbling when Liam teased. If his actions had harmed Liam, Killian would be devastated. 

Neal was still smirking, though there was a tiny hint of confusion in his eyes. Emma wasn’t reacting quite the way he’d expected. She didn’t look angry or disgusted, just sad. He decided to twist the knife. 

“So your little boyfriend’s a homewrecker, huh? That must be a kick in the teeth. Bet you thought he was an innocent little virgin like you. Or are you, still? You let him fuck you yet?”

Emma glared at him, anger bubbling through her, feeling for the first time in her life like she actually hated someone.

“Or maybe he thinks you’d be too vanilla after the admiral’s wife.” 

“Emma, if you don’t punch this jagoff in his stupid fucking face, I will,” snarled Ruby. 

“No,” said Emma, slapping Neal in the chest with his phone as she returned it to him. “He’s not worth the detention. You’re pathetic, Neal. None of this changes how I feel about Killian, though it does explain a lot. I guess maybe I should thank you for that. Or not, because you only did it to be a jerk. Either way, I never want to speak to you again.” She looked him straight in the eye and spoke a word she had never thought she’d say. “Fuck off.” 

Ruby gasped and even Neal’s eyes widened in shock. Emma _never_ swore. 

She almost laughed at their expressions. Maybe Killian _was_ rubbing off on her. Or maybe she was just tired of being a good girl all the time. Giving Neal her best approximation of one of Killian’s dismissive sneers, she turned on her heel and headed for her first class. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of second period the entire school had heard about Killian and the admiral’s wife. Although the majority seemed to agree with Neal that banging an older woman was pretty impressive, there was a small but vocal minority with some less than kind thoughts about the character of a person who would “steal someone’s wife.”

Whatever their opinion, everyone was talking about him, and Emma knew how Killian would hate that, how mortified he’d be to have the secrets he’d protected so fiercely as fodder for school gossip. 

When he didn’t appear in English class, her worry nearly consumed her. She buzzed with anxiety for the whole period, and after it ended Emma did yet another thing that she had never done before in her life, another thing she never imagined she would do. 

She skipped a class. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She found him where she’d known she would, in the little corner of the library that she’d come to think of as _their_ corner. He smirked when he saw her, the old careless smirk she hadn't seen on his face for weeks.

“You've heard then,” he said. “About Milah.” 

She nodded. 

“At least now you understand why I have to go back.” 

“No, I really don’t.” 

“I left her,” he snapped. “She— she loves me, and I abandoned her. Left her in the hands of that— that _demon_ she married.” 

“Does she? Love you, I mean?”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. “Of course she loves me and I—” he looked down at his hands as his voice cracked over the words “—and I love her and I— we—” 

“You—” she swallowed hard. “You slept with her.” 

He shot her a sardonic look. “I _fucked_ her, yes. Does it upset you less not to use the word? Should I tidy up the language for the princess’s delicate ears? I fucked her, is what, and not just once. It went on for months.”

Emma tried not to cringe, knowing he was deliberately trying to hurt her, _convinced_ he wouldn’t be so callous if there wasn’t something deeply wrong. “Did you want to?” she asked. 

He blinked, surprised, and then a stricken expression crept onto his face. “What?” He whispered. 

“Did you want to—” she hesitated over the hated word, “—to fuck her?”

“I— of course I did!” he said, in the tone Emma had come to learn all too well over the past few months, the one he used when he was trying to convince himself of something he didn’t truly believe. 

She took a step closer to him, willing herself not to feel hurt when he flinched away. “Did you really?” she whispered. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to deny her words. 

“It’s okay if you didn’t, Killian.” 

“I— I _did_ ,” he said, “I had to.” 

Emma jolted back like she’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. “What do you mean you _had_ to?” she cried. Something was definitely _very_ not right here. Had Killian somehow been coerced? She swallowed over the lump in her throat, tears prickling behind her eyes at the thought, at the thought of anyone using him, hurting him as he had clearly been hurt. 

He seemed to be fighting back tears of his own. “Her husband is a monster,” he said in a choked voice. “He abused her, psychologically and— and physically. She was always so sad, desperate for an escape, and I— I worried she might hurt herself, or worse. When we— well, it made her feel better. I just wanted her to stop being so sad.” 

“Oh, Killian.” Emma could swear her heart was breaking, she could feel it shatter in her chest. “I’m so sorry. It must have been terrible, but I doubt there was anything you could really have done—”

“You don’t _know_ that, Emma!” he  nearly shouted, and Emma wondered wildly why Miss French hadn’t appeared to shush them yet. “You don’t know anything about it!” 

“Of course I don’t!” She was shouting herself now, feeling so sad and furious and _hurt_ that he was still trying to push her away. “How could I when you never told me anything?”

“Oh, I should have told you, should I? Told _you_ , the sweetest little princess in the world all about how I fucked a married woman? Told you all the many and varied ways I fucked _everything_ up, so that you could hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, I could never—”

“Well, you should. I destroyed my brother’s career, got us kicked out of our country, made Milah’s awful life worse, got her—” he broke off. “You _should_ hate me, God knows I hate myself.” 

“Oh, Killian—” She reached for him, but he flinched away again. 

“I don’t need your pity, Emma,” he sneered, hating the thought of her touching him knowing what he was, desperate for her to go away and leave him alone with his pain. Pain he would rather die than allow to sully her. “The pity of a sweet little small-town girl whose biggest problem is whether she’ll get into her first choice college or her second. You don’t know what it’s like to have real problems.” 

“Please let me— I just want to help you,” she whispered. 

“Well, you can’t. And what’s more, you shouldn’t want to. Wanting to help someone is what got me into this bloody mess in the first place. Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt, that’s the lesson you need to learn.”

“That’s a terrible lesson.” 

“And it’s only a very privileged person who has the luxury not to learn it.” He slumped back against the bookshelves, looking so lost and broken that she couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and rolling down her cheeks. 

“Go away now, Emma,” he said. “Please.”

“Killian.” 

“Just go. We have nothing more to say to each other.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After she left, Killian sat for a minute, recovering what he could of his composure. Then he went home. There was no point staying in this ridiculous school any longer, he thought. Now that the secret was out, maybe Liam would finally agree to go back to England. 

His gut twisted with what he refused to accept was distress at the thought of leaving Storybrooke. Leaving Emma. He’d known all along that he’d be gone soon, after all, that Emma could never be for him. That bright, beautiful girl deserved far better than someone who’d failed as badly as he had. 

At least she wasn’t with Neal anymore. Killian consoled himself with that thought. She’d go off to college next year and find herself some bloke as solid and wholesome as she was herself, and they would get married and have beautiful children and she would be happy. He almost smiled, thinking about it. That was what Emma deserved from life. 

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, imagining Emma’s future when the door burst open and Liam appeared. 

Killian stiffened at the expression on his brother’s face. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asked.

“Emma called me at the harbourmaster’s office. She told me what happened.” 

Killian glared down at the countertop. “Good,” he said defiantly. “I’m glad. I’m glad this happened, now maybe we can abandon this charade and finally go home.”

“Oh, bloody hell, not this again! We _are_ home, Killian! Storybrooke is our home now, we are not going back to Bristol!” 

“Why, Liam? You said we were moving here for a new start, but that’s blown up now. There’s no point in staying in this ridiculous little town anymore, and I am _not_ going back to that bloody school. Can’t we just go back to England and forget this ever happened?”

Liam looked intently at his brother, clinging to the fine threads of his patience. Killian had always been stubborn, but this was a new level of intransigence. “Brother, tell me what’s going on with you. Why are you so desperate to get back? Is it about Milah, because you know you can’t—” 

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” shouted Killian. “You don’t _know,_ Liam! I have to go back to her, I have no choice!” 

“Of course you have a choice—”

“I _don’t!_ ” 

Liam threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why the hell not? What is it that you’re not telling me? I know there’s something you’ve been holding back, Killian. Please, just tell me what it is!”

Killian pounded his fist on the countertop in frustration, wanting desperately to tell Liam everything but still so terribly afraid of how his brother might handle the news. He looked at Liam’s pleading expression and suddenly all the humiliation and anger and sadness of the day and of his life and of his hopeless future was just too much for him. “Milah is pregnant,” he burst out. “She’s pregnant and she said she’d kill herself and the baby if I didn’t come back.” 

Liam gaped. “You never said… Why didn’t you tell me this?” 

“How could I? I’d already made such a mess of things for you, destroyed your career and forced us to leave England, I didn’t want you to know how badly I’d actually screwed up. I was afraid that even if you found out you still wouldn’t let me go back, that you’d try to deal with Milah yourself and drive her to do something desperate. And—” he gulped, looking utterly distraught and so painfully young. “—and also I didn’t want to talk about it. It felt like talking, actually saying it out loud would somehow make it real. But it _is_ real, don’t you see, and I can’t keep ignoring it. I have a _responsibility_ —” 

Liam shook his head, feeling like he’d finally found the missing piece to a puzzle he’d been labouring over for months. “Goddamnit, Killian, have you been keeping this inside all this time? This is what you’ve been hiding?”

Killian nodded, and Liam strode across the room and wrapped him in an enormous hug. “I’m so sorry, brother, I had no idea.” 

Killian sighed against his brother’s shoulder, wishing for just a moment that he were small again so he could curl up in Liam’s lap and let his brother protect him from the world. “So you understand,” he said, sounding tentatively hopeful and profoundly relieved. “You’ll let me go back? You see, don’t you Liam, that I _have_ to go back? I can’t let her— my own child—”

Liam’s heart broke to hear his little brother (which Killian would always be to him, despite his insistence on _younger_ ), still barely more than a boy himself, making himself frantic about the well being of his _baby_. “Brother,” said Liam, pulling back from the hug. “Come, sit down. We need to talk.” 

He led Killian to the sofa, where his brother sat reluctantly, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. Liam was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Killian, there are a lot of things I think you need to know, things I never told you before because I thought you had enough to deal with. Looking back, I realise that this was a mistake. You’ve always been mature for your age, forced to grow up faster than you should have when Mum died and then Father left. I should have trusted you with the whole truth instead of trying to protect you from it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so much guilt or tried to take so much on your own shoulders. 

The first thing you need to know is that you aren’t the reason why I gave up my commission. I wasn’t forced into it by Gold or by threats of retailiation. I relinquished it voluntarily, gladly even, when it became clear that the navy had no intention of taking action against that man for any of the crimes he committed, not least of which the crimes against his wife. I could no longer in good conscience be a part of an institution that swept such serious things under the rug or let themselves be bought with a criminal’s dirty money and nefarious influence. 

What I didn’t know during the time that I was investigating Gold’s malfeasance was how heavily Milah was coming to depend on you for support. I should have noticed it, Killian, should have paid more attention to you. I got so caught up in my work that I ignored what was going on in my own family. That was my mistake, and you are not to blame for it. You’re also not to blame for Milah’s actions. She was responsible for coercing you into a sexual relationship—”

“She didn’t coerce me! I wanted to,” protested Killian, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Had he really wanted to sleep with Milah, or had he just wanted her to feel better, to feel loved and stop hinting that she might take her own life? 

Liam looked skeptical, but didn’t challenge him. “Perhaps, but she should never have put you in a position where wanting to would even be an option. She had no business getting so involved with a teenager, putting her problems on your shoulders, expecting you to deal with her marriage. There was nothing you could have done, Killian, no way you could have rescued her. It was never your responsibility.”

Killian was silent, and Liam could see him thinking, trying to adjust. “She was desperate…” he whispered. 

“Yes, she was. She was in a terrible situation, one that is never easily resolved. I understand why you wanted to help her, I did too. But Killian, look at me.” He paused until his brother’s blue eyes met his own. “You did not fail to save her. There was _nothing_ you could have done. It wasn’t your responsibility. Do you understand that?”

Killian nodded slowly, but he still looked troubled. “I think, since we’ve been in Storybrooke, I’ve had some time and distance to think about it and I have come to understand those things, though it doesn’t really make me feel less guilty. The baby, though, that _is_ my responsibility,” he said. “I can’t let her endanger it. I promised I’d go back and I have to keep that promise.”  

“Brother, this is going to be hard for you to hear, but please listen carefully. There is no baby.” 

“There _is_ ,” insisted Killian. “She told me. I went to see her in hospital—” 

“Yes, I know you did. I just wish I’d known what she said to you there. But it isn’t true. I’ve been keeping track of Milah, and of Gold, since we moved. She’s not pregnant. She never was.”

Killian looked shell shocked. “She’s… not pregnant,” he whispered. 

“No,” said Liam. “But she’s left him. Gold. She moved to London and filed a restraining order against him. From what I’ve been told, he’s respecting it. He’s moved on to some other poor deluded young woman, apparently. Milah has filed for divorce.” He looked at his brother, fancying he could almost see the cogs turning in his clever mind as he adjusted to this complete realignment of his universe. “Are you going to be all right, Killian?” 

Killian was silent for a long time. “I— I need some time to process all this,” he said finally. “All this time, I’ve been thinking— thinking about how far along she was and how the baby was developing, if it would be a boy or a girl. It’s going to take some time to accept that it’s not going to happen, that it was never true. Even though I didn’t want it, losing it is still a blow. Does that make sense?” 

“It does,” said Liam kindly. “And... do you still feel that you need to go back? Even knowing that she’s safe, and there’s no baby?”

Killian huffed out a breath. “Bloody hell, give a chap time to think before you start asking life-altering questions!” he said, and Liam felt some of his tension drain away. If his brother was up to making wry quips then that was a very good sign. 

“I really am going to need a while to work through all of this,” said Killian, sounding so grown up that it gave Liam a bittersweet twinge in his heart. “But I think— no. I don’t want to go back. I want— I— I have to talk to Emma.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So clearly there are serious issues of age-related ability to consent, here, however it’s important to note that the legal age of consent in the UK is 16, so Milah didn’t technically break any laws. I think we can all agree though that she took serious advantage of Killian’s inherent chivalry and used it to force him into a position where he wouldn’t really feel comfortable saying no, which was clearly not okay. On the third hand (ha!) It’s important to remember that people stuck in abusive relationships often feel driven to take desperate measures and Milah was looking for escape at any cost. There will be more on this as Killian tells Emma his story in the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. This story has taken over my life. I don’t know where it came from only that I love it and it is bursting to be told. It has gone far, far beyond what I had originally intended, if I even originally intended anything, and is now dealing with some serious issues. I still love young Emma and Killian and the growing up and character development that is happening with both of them, I now love what Liam has become, and I love love love David and Emma’s father/daughter relationship. I hope this doesn’t come across as boastful, because I almost feel like this story is writing itself, I’m just so thrilled with how it’s turning out and have never been so motivated in writing anything before.

After Emma got off the phone with Liam, she called her dad. She had no idea how Neal had gotten his hands on Killian’s therapy records, but she was certain that it couldn’t have been in any way that was above board. 

David listened calmly as she told him the story, but when she told him exactly what the records had revealed, he exploded. 

“Killian did _what?!_ ”

“Daddy, please, don’t judge him! I think there’s more to the story, he seemed so upset about it!” 

“Or just upset people found out?”

“Daddy, that’s unkind! You know Killian, you said yourself he’s good person. ”

David was silent for a moment. “You’re right, Emma,” he said finally. “Killian deserves the benefit of the doubt. To my knowledge he’s never done or said anything that suggests he can’t be trusted. Neal, on the other hand… If it turns out that he broke into Dr Hopper’s office, the consequences are going to be severe.”

“Good,” said Emma. “He deserves it.” 

“I’ll need to do some investigating,” said David. “But I promise you, sweetie, we’ll find out what happened. And if a crime has been committed, the guilty party will be held accountable.” 

“Thanks, Daddy. I love you.” 

“Love you too, Duckling.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was leaving cheerleading practice that afternoon when her phone buzzed with a text message. Thinking it was probably just Ruby wanting to meet up, she ignored it. Her dad never texted, and he was the only person she wanted to hear from right now. 

She threw her gear into the back of the bug, and sighed. The cheerleading squad was transitioning between football and basketball, and she was beginning to wonder if she really wanted to keep doing it. She had never liked basketball cheering that much, and she was starting to feel like she’d rather spend her time focusing on her college applications and her AP classes. Not to mention that quitting the squad would give her more time to spend with Killian. If he still wanted to spend time with her, that is. If he didn’t go back to England. 

She pushed that thought away and got into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind her before taking out her phone and giving it a quick glance. 

_Killian: I’m sorry._

Emma nearly dropped her phone in astonishment. She’d given Killian her number weeks ago, but he’d never called or texted her and she’d felt pushy enough already without chasing him electronically as well as in person. She was just trying to decide how to answer when the phone buzzed again. 

_Killian: I won’t be in school tomorrow, but can we meet up in the afternoon?_

_Killian: I’d like to tell you what happened._

_Killian: Before the rumours get out of control._

Emma’s heart was pounding and she was almost lightheaded with relief. 

_Emma: I can meet you at Granny’s tomorrow at 4._

To hell with cheerleading practice, she thought. She was done with it. 

_Killian: I’d prefer somewhere less public, if that’s okay._

_Killian: Can you come to our boat?_

_Killian: 4 is fine._

_Emma: I’ll be there._  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Emma arrived at the marina the next afternoon, Killian was waiting for her, looking anxious. 

“Hi,” he said, attempting a smile. “Let me just tell Liam you’re here. We can sit in the main cabin on the boat, it’s warmer there. You go on ahead.” He jogged away, and Emma heard him knock on the door of the harbourmaster’s office and say something to Liam that she couldn’t quite make out. 

She boarded the boat but remained on her deck, not feeling comfortable going inside without at least one Jones accompanying her. 

Killian returned a minute later and led her inside, indicating that she should sit on the small built-in sofa in the main cabin. She did, but he remained standing, fidgeting slightly. “Do you—” he scratched behind his right ear, “um, want anything to drink or anything? We’ve got some water and sodas in the fridge.” 

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Still he remained standing. 

“Killian, are you going to sit down?” she asked. “I won’t bite.” 

He huffed out a breath. “Sorry, love, I’m still a bit tense. It’s been an… interesting thirty-six hours.” 

He sat down opposite her, the tiny size of the sofa leaving barely an inch between their knees. He sat quietly for a moment, looking at his hands. Emma waited. 

“I want to tell you everything, Emma,” he said finally, still not looking up. “I want you to understand what happened. I feel like if anyone can understand, it’s you. But it’s— it’s really hard for me to talk about it, so would you mind not interrupting me until I’m done? Just let me get it out.”

“Of course.” 

“I had an emergency appointment with Dr Hopper today. I was there for three hours,” he said wryly. “He just let me babble. I think he feels guilty about what happened, though it’s clearly not his fault.” 

_It’s Neal’s fault,_ Emma wanted to say, but she remained silent. 

“Anyway, talking with him helped me get my head round all this a bit, so I should be more coherent now. Let me start at the beginning, okay?” He looked up, finally, and Emma nodded. 

“So I’m sure you’ve gathered that Liam was in the navy, and that Admiral Gold was his commanding officer. But there was more to it than that. Liam had actually been assigned by the RNP to go undercover and investigate Gold for criminal activity.”

“The RNP?” said Emma, without thinking. “Oh! Sorry!”

He smiled. “It’s okay, I should have been more clear. RNP is the Royal Naval Police, the internal law enforcement for the navy. They suspected Gold had been using his position to facilitate smuggling and drug-running. So Liam became his personal secretary, working side by side with him at all times. Naturally this brought both of us into close contact with Gold and also with Milah, because they worked so closely and often at late hours. Liam and Gold always seemed to be busy talking about navy business, and so Milah and I were often left alone together.

We got along well from the beginning and I definitely had a thing for her, a crush, like the kind you might get on a teacher. She’s beautiful, and she talked to me like an adult. She never asked me about school or exams, but we talked about music and books and travelling. She had always wanted to travel, and she said that was a big reason why she married Gold. He promised that as a navy wife she’d be able to go all around the world, but instead she was stuck in Bristol while he was in this administrative role, the role that it turned out he didn’t want to give up because it’s what allowed him to run the smuggling rings. She was bored and frustrated, and felt like the marriage she had wasn’t what she’d signed up for. She started telling me a lot about her life and how Gold treated her, the things he said and the lies he told and the way he tried to make her feel like it was all her fault she was unhappy, gaslighted her into thinking she was going crazy, that everything was fine and her problems were all in her head.” 

Killian shifted uncomfortably, bringing his knee even closer to hers. Emma took advantage of that to shift her own position so that their hands were nearly touching. Killian didn’t seem to notice as he continued his story. “She was so miserable and I couldn’t bear to see it,” he said hoarsely, clearly lost in his memories. “I tried to be there for her, to listen when she needed an ear and help her whenever I could. There wasn’t much I could do, of course, but I tried my best and it got to the point where I was spending almost all my time with her. She texted me at all hours of the day and night, when I was in school and waking me up in the middle of the night. I felt like I couldn’t let any message go unanswered, I was so afraid of what she might do if she felt I wasn’t there for her anymore. I started getting in trouble at school, and I wasn’t sleeping properly.

Every time I saw her she would touch me, just little touches at first, almost like accidents, but then they got longer and more blatant and then one day she kissed me. I didn’t— I mean I didn’t object, but I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. I was attracted to her and I wanted to make her feel better, and honestly I was also flattered that she wanted me, but there was always this little voice in my head telling me it was wrong. The more I ignored the voice the worse I felt and the worse I felt the more I doubled down and ignored it. It really is like sliding down a spiral, with everything just getting worse and worse and feeling more out of control and before I could really get a handle on what was happening we were having sex every day and she was telling me that she loved me and that if she ever lost me she wouldn’t be able to go on. She said that she needed me and that I was the only good thing in her life and the only person who understood her. And I tried, I tried so hard to live up to that and to be what she needed but her marriage just kept getting worse and then Gold started hitting her.” 

Killian swallowed, tears in his eyes, and Emma slid closer, letting her hand touch his. He grasped it, squeezing her fingers, though the action seemed almost reflexive and he didn’t pause in his tale. “She said he knew that she was having an affair,” he continued, “but he didn’t know with whom. He hit her when she wouldn’t tell him, and then I felt even worse because she was getting hurt to protect me. I started skiving off classes and not studying, and I was worrying about her constantly. It’s a miracle I managed to pass my exams, though the marks weren’t as good as my teachers had expected. That’s when Liam took notice. I’d always been such a reliable little swot, for me not to get top marks was a pretty obvious sign that something was wrong.” His mouth twisted wryly. “But I wouldn’t tell him what was going on… I couldn’t. I knew he would be so disappointed, and that made me angry, because why would he be disappointed unless I was doing something awful, and I didn’t want to admit to myself that it was awful. It was the first really serious fight that we’d ever had, and of course that just made me feel worse.” He shook his head, blinking rapidly, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He didn’t seem to notice. 

“Then the term ended and Milah told me— she told me she wanted to leave her husband and she wanted me to come with her. The little voice that was still trying to get me to see reason screamed that it was a crazy idea, that I was too young and had no real qualifications, that I wanted to go to university and that running away with her would just completely fuck my future. Not to mention what my brother would do when he found out, or her husband. But of course I didn’t listen. I felt like I was just in too deep to get away from her, and I was still afraid of what she might do to herself if I did. I cared about her, and I felt responsible for Gold physically abusing her. 

We planned it all, how we would escape and where we would go, then on the day we planned to leave we were at her house packing when Gold came home unexepectedly and caught us. He was furious, and he started beating her viciously, saying he was going to kill her. I tried to stop him but he had two of his subordinates with him, ones Liam was also investigating for their roles in his smuggling, and they held me back, made me watch while he hurt her.” Killian’s voice was so choked now that he could barely get the words out. “It was honestly the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and seemed to go on forever, almost in slow motion. I have no doubt he would actually have beaten her to death, but miraculously before he could Liam arrived with some RNPs. It turned out Gold was home early because he’d discovered Liam had found evidence of his criminal actions and was closing in. They arrested Gold and his subordinates, and took Milah away to hospital. Liam was furious when he learned why I was there, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. We had another huge fight, and he wouldn’t let me go with her in the ambulance or visit her in hospital or even contact her at all. For over a week he watched me like a hawk. He had someone stay with me at all times and he took my phone away so I couldn’t call her. Then one day he came home seething with anger and told me he was leaving the navy, and that we were moving to America. I said I didn’t want to go but he was adamant. He said that with Gold and everything that had happened he couldn’t stay any longer, which I thought meant Gold had threatened him, or the scandal of me and Milah had made him so ashamed he felt we had to leave. 

But I couldn’t leave without making sure Milah was all right, so I gave his guards the slip and managed to get to the hospital to see her. I told her that we were moving and she cried and begged me to stay. She said I couldn’t leave her alone with her husband, that she was terrified of him and couldn’t get away without my help. Then— then she told me that she was pregnant. She said it was my baby and she needed me to be there for both of them. She said she couldn’t allow her husband to raise my child, and if I didn’t come back by the time it was born she would kill herself, and the baby too.”

Emma gasped in shock. She couldn’t help it. None of the explanations she had imagined for Killian’s insistence on returning to England had even touched on the tragedy of this one. She ached to think of what he must have been suffering these past months, the worry and guilt and helplessness. Tears had been rolling freely down his cheeks for some time now, and he held her hand in a grip so tight she had long since lost feeling in her fingers. She wanted to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the world, soothe his pain away and ensure this Milah never got her claws in him ever again. Emma was not a vicious person, but she felt that if anyone deserved to step in a cold puddle in her socks, it was Milah. 

 Killian sniffed and brushed his hand over his cheeks, taking a deep breath before he continued. “I didn’t know what to do. Liam was still my guardian and I had no money and nowhere to go if I didn’t go with him. I did have an unoffical offer to study at Oxford pending my A-level results, but I wouldn’t take the A-levels for at least a year if not longer. I called the tutor who I’d met with at Oxford and he managed to get the university to put their offer in writing, saying that they would accept American AP exam results as equivalent, so if I scored highly enough on those I could start uni next year and would have a place to live and a bursary for my expenses. So that was my plan. Pass the exams and then go back, brother or no, and find some way to support Milah and the baby until I finished my degree and could get a job. I had no idea how I was going to manage such a thing, but I couldn’t even think that far ahead. Just getting back, making sure the baby was safe, that was as far as my mind could take me. The problem was that by my calculations the baby would be due in April but the exam results wouldn’t be released until July. I had no idea what Milah might do in those three months, if she would actually carry out her threat when I didn’t return. I had no way to contact her, Liam had deleted her number from my phone and wouldn’t answer any questions about where she was living, or what had happened with her and Gold. I kept googling their names for information, but there was nothing. The navy cleaned the whole thing up, protected their admiral and just made it all disappear. I didn’t even know if Milah was alive.” 

“Oh, Killian,” Emma whispered, her own tears flowing freely now. His eyes flew to her face and he smiled softly, reaching up to brush them away. He seemed to come back to himself then, out of the past and suddenly aware of his surroundings. He gave himself a little shake, rolling his shoulders to release their tension and loosening his grip on her hand, shifting the hold to lace their fingers together. 

“And now for the most shocking part of all,” he said. “When I finally told Liam about the baby, wanting him to understand the reason I needed to go back to England, he told me that pretty much everything that had been driving me all this time is in fact total bollocks. He said he’s been keeping tabs on Milah and on Gold the whole time we’ve been in Storybrooke, and that she’s not pregnant. She must just have told me that so I would stay. When I left anyway and Liam prevented any contact between us, she must have given up on me.” He shook his head, sighing heavily. “I mean, I’m just guessing, I have really no idea what she was thinking, just that she was scared and desperate and certainly not reacting very rationally to what was happening. Anyway, Liam says she’s left her husband, that she’s living in London now, and safe from him.” He made a small, bitter grimace.  

“So now all of a sudden everything I had been worrying about obsessively for months has just poofed away into nothing. There’s no baby, Milah is fine, and Liam left the navy by his own choice and not because of anything I did. I feel— I feel weirdly kind of lost. Everything is different that I thought and I don’t really know what to do now. You’d think I’d be happy, relieved, but I’m not. I mean, I am, but… I feel lots of other things too, and I can’t seem to fully grasp these new circumstances. I woke up this morning feeling exactly the same as I have every morning in Storybrooke, and I had to consciously remind myself that I don’t need to feel that way anymore. It’s— well, it’s confusing to say the least.” 

“So…” Emma hesitated, unsure if she should ask the question. “Um, what are you going to do? Do you still want to go back?” _Go back to her,_ she wanted to say but didn’t. 

“No,” he said decidedly. “That’s about the only thing I left Dr Hopper’s feeling absolutely certain of. I don’t want to go back. I’ve come to like Storybrooke, against all odds, and despite how horrifying this all is going to make my life at school, I want to stay here.” 

“And what about… Milah? Do you— do you still love her?”

Killian met her worried eyes with an intense look that stole the breath from her lungs. “I don’t think I ever really did,” he said softly. “I wanted to believe I did, because it felt like that would make what we were doing okay, or at least justifiable. But I think I always knew that it was— not, and that’s why I felt so awful and conflicted about it.” He looked down again, at their joined hands. “I’ve been feeling so guilty and ashamed and just— dirty. Sordid. I hated feeling that way, so much that I closed down and held myself apart from everything around me. Apparently it’s going to take a while to stop doing that, to open up again. Dr Hopper says that I need to work through my feelings slowly, and not expect everything to fix itself all at once. He says I have a lot to unpack.” Killian smiled. “I know that he’s right and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go back to exactly how I was before, but I do know that right at this moment I feel hopeful, better than I have since before I met Milah, and a lot of that has to do with you.” He looked up at her again, meeting her eyes as this thumb began to rub patterns into the back of her hand that made her heart almost race out of her chest.

“Emma, I’m so grateful for your friendship, and so sorry for what I said to you the other day. I didn’t mean it, I just couldn’t bear for you to be in any way involved in these awful things that I’d done and seen. I couldn’t stand the idea of that ugliness touching you, and I wanted to push you as far away from it as I could. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you,” said Emma, smiling through the stab of pain in her chest at his use of the word _friendship,_ and his answering smile was radiant. Despite the hurt she did understand _._ He’d been through something terribly traumatic and his feelings were a confusing mess. He needed a friend to support him as he worked through them. What he _didn’t_ need was her being a petulant little princess because she wanted more from him than he was able to give. 

She thought about what he had said that first day in fencing club. _I know when a female is trying to attract me._ She’d thought it such an odd choice of words back then, but now she understood. He’d thought she was another Milah, someone who would just take what she wanted from him without considering his feelings or wishes at all. Emma was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t been wrong. She had decided she wanted him and she’d gone after him, never even considering that he might not welcome her attentions. What boy wouldn’t want Emma Swan, after all? Her only consolation was that she had actually stepped back when he’d said no, not with his words but with the obvious discomfort he felt when she pushed too hard. At least she’d been sensitive enough to his feelings for that, and she didn’t ever want him to feel uncomfortable around her again. 

Right there, in that moment, with the pair of them tearstained and torn and more raw than either had ever felt before, Emma made them both a silent promise. She would wait for him, for as long as it took. As long as he needed to deal with his trauma she would wait, and she would be there for him and be his friend and never push for more until he was ready. And if he was never ready, well then she would deal with that. She was in this for the long haul. For forever. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David leaned against the ladder of Liam Jones’s boat, where he had been standing for several minutes listening to Killian’s tale. He felt uncomfortable eavesdropping but Liam had told him to go right in, that he would find Emma there as well as Killian. He’d been glad because had news for both of them that he wished to deliver in person. Now, though, he was reluctant to interrupt the intimate scene. Emma’s faith in Killian had been completely justified, in David’s opinion, after hearing the details of the story. It was clear that the boy had been badly used and had done the best that he could in extremely difficult circumstances. Which was just as well, as it was blatantly obvious to David now that Emma would have stuck by Killian no matter what his story had turned out to be. 

He looked at his daughter’s face, just visible to him around the edge of the doorframe, and her expression filled him with such a bittersweet ache that he actually clutched at his chest. He knew that expression, knew it well. He had felt it on his own face, seen it on his wife’s. Emma was in love. Not puppy love, not a teenage crush, but actual, real love that would last. Perhaps forever. David wasn’t sure he was ready for his baby girl to feel that, ready for the heartbreak that she would feel if it went wrong. But he supposed he had no choice. She was growing up and he couldn’t prevent it, no matter how much part of him wished she was still the tiny girl he’d carried on his shoulders, who would fall asleep in his lap as he read her a story, her downy hair tickling his chin. 

Drawing a deep breath, David drew his hand over his face, brushing his tears away and knocked on the cabin door before entering, ready to deliver the news that Emma had been waiting to hear. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Effusive thanks to @hollyethecurious (HollyeLeigh) for the artwork! I just love it! Head over to Tumblr to see it, and if you wanted to follow me over there (@profdanglaisstuff) that would be all right too.
> 
> Thanks also to everyone for reading, commenting, kudos-ing, and reblogging! I'm so pleased by the way people have been engaging with this story. Love you all xxx

Killian was out of school for a week, for a “mental health break” he called it with a chuckle, apparently a term he’d gotten from Dr Hopper. He saw the psychiatrist daily during this break and spent the rest of his time at the harbour with Liam, working on their boat, reading, playing his guitar, and talking with his brother about everything that had happened. 

“We’ve hashed it all out in _excruciating_ detail,” he told Emma as they sat together in the boat’s cabin, she working on her college essays while he practiced a new song. “It’s such a relief to be able to really talk to Liam again. There was a time when we had no secrets between us. He showed me all the information he had collected on Milah and her situation. Apparently her divorce is almost finalised and next month she’s starting a job teaching English in Japan.” He smiled. “She’ll like that, a chance to travel. What she always wanted.” 

“Hmmmph,” said Emma, glaring at the screen of her laptop as she typed rapidly. 

“Swan,” he admonished, giving her a mock scowl as he strummed a chord at her. 

Emma slammed her hands down on the keyboard. “Killian, I just don’t know how you can be so forgiving after what she did to you.” 

He set the guitar aside and his expression became serious. “I have to be, don’t you see?” he asked, looking at her intently. “I can’t hold on to my anger or it will eat me alive. I didn’t even realise how angry I was until Dr Hopper helped me see it, and how by not acknowledging it, allowing myself to feel it, and then letting it go, I was only hurting myself. Besides, I did genuinely care about Milah, and I’m glad she’s finally in a place where she can be happy.” 

“Hmmmmph.” Emma concentrated on deleting the gibberish she’d produced by her attack on the keyboard.

“A place that doesn’t include me,” said Killian brightly, picking up the guitar again and plucking out a cheery tune. “That’s good, isn’t it Swan?”

“I suppose so,” she grumbled. “Though I’d still prefer if the place was dark and scary and full of nettles.” He laughed heartily at that and she couldn’t hold back an answering smile. “Hey, I’m nearly done with this, will you read it over and make sure it’s okay? Just check my grammar and punctuation and stuff.”

“Of course, love, though I’m sure it’s already brilliant.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Freed from the weight of his worry and guilt, Killian gradually began to smile more easily, and his witty, teasing nature (“cheeky git,” Liam called him, his voice irritated but with a relief so profound it bordered on joy in his eyes) came more readily to the fore. When he returned to school the following Monday, he moved through the halls with a swagger that Emma had never seen on him before. Unlike the arrogant, bullying one that Neal always had Killian’s evoked a simple self-assurance that she had to concede looked _really_ good on him. Despite how much emotional baggage he still had to work through he clearly wasn’t burdened by shame anymore, and equally clearly did not intend to take any crap from anyone. 

This made itself evident that morning when he shut his locker and turned towards his first class, only to find himself confronted by Felix and Rufio. 

“Really, chaps?” he said, raising an eyebrow at them. “You couldn’t even wait until after school so you could chuck me into the bins, like proper high school bullies?”

This mockery went clean over the other boys’ heads, and they continued to block his path, trying to look intimidating while also trying not to _be_ intimidated by Killian’s calm demeanor and his amused expression. 

Felix, the sligtly cleverer of the two, suspected he was being laughed at but couldn’t put his finger on why. He didn’t like it. 

Bristling, he sneered at Killian. “Bet you think you’ve won,” he snarled. “Now that Neal’s in jail and out of the way. Now you can move in on Emma like you did on that—” he broke off as Killian stepped into his space. There wasn’t much difference in height between them, but somehow Felix had the impression of Killian towering over him, his face calm but his eyes darkly furious, and for once in his life he felt a stab of genuine fear. 

“I’m only going to say this once,” growled Killian in the new, lower register his voice had taken on more often of late, “So you’d better listen carefully. Your mate Neal is a criminal, and not even a good one. He’s in jail because he’s stupid, and that’s nothing to do with me. I have no doubt it’s where he’d always have ended up eventually. Bit of advice: If you’re going to steal confidential information, don’t take pictures of the evidence on your phone, and definitely don’t then show those pictures to the sheriff’s daughter. Neal got what he deserved. I now consider this matter closed, and if you or anyone else—” he raised his voice so that the rapidly assmbling crowd of onlookers could all hear, “—tries to take it any further, you will not care for the repercussions.” 

Felix wasn’t sure what “repercussions” were, but the hint of repressed violence in Killian’s manner made him keen not to find out. He had always been content to follow Neal, less out of respect for the other boy than a simple unwillingness to make a thing out of Neal’s belligerent insistence that he should be the one in charge, but he’d always sensed that there wasn’t much substance underneath Neal’s bluster. Killian however didn’t bluster. He simply stated facts, and Felix could tell that he was not the sort of person to make a threat he couldn’t back up with action. Perhaps it was time to step out of Neal’s shadow, thought Felix, and take over leadership of their little gang. He certainly couldn’t do a worse job of it than Neal had, and escalating a pointless conflict with a guy who looked prepared to fight dirty if necessary was much more Neal’s style than Felix’s. He nodded at Killian, and stepped back. Rufio looked surprised but followed his lead. 

Killian nodded back then transferred his glare to the crowd of onlookers, which had grown considerably in the past thirty seconds and now included Emma and Ruby, he could see out of the corner of his eye. “As for what you may have heard about me,” he said, loudly enough for all to hear. “It’s all true.” He smirked for a moment as a gasp went through the crowd, then his expression hardened. “It’s also no one’s business but mine, and those in whom I choose to confide. This is all I have to say on the subject. Now, if you’ll all excuse me I don’t wish to be late for class.” He slung his satchel over his shoulder and headed down the hall, turning his head briefly to shoot Emma a wink. People moved aside to let him pass and as soon as he had turned the corner furious whispering erupted in his wake. 

Ruby pursed her lips. “I may have underestimated him,” she remarked. 

Emma’s heart was pounding, a familiar occurrence where Killian was concerned, but this time it felt different. She’d been worried about how he would react to the ineveitable curiosity and questions from their classmates, but this smooth handling of a potentially explosive situation instead of calming her fears instead filled her with the wild desire to run after him, to fling herself into his arms and kiss them both breathless. 

“He’s just so _wonderful,_ ” she sighed, and Ruby laughed. 

“Down, girl,” she teased. “I’ll grant you this one’s worth your time, unlike the douchemaster general, but remember we’re in school. No one wants to see that.” 

Emma rolled her eyes and gave her friend a shove, but the butterflies continued rhumba-ing around her insides, this time accompanied by an odd, hollow sort of ache as she remembered her resolution not to pursue Killian anymore. She was now all but certain that she loved him, that beyond the hot, tingly sensation she always felt in his presence lay a profound devotion. She would do anything for him, sacrifice anything to give him what he needed, and that _terrified_ her. For the first time in her life Emma felt vulnerable, exposed, as though her chest were torn open and her heart lain bare to the mercies of fate and one gorgeous, troubled boy. She _hated_ it. Even knowing that Killian would never intentionally hurt her was no consolation when the truth was that he could hurt her simply by caring deeply for her as a friend. If that was all she could ever have from him she would take it, she knew, without pushing for more, but it would be a wound on her heart that would never heal. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s a bully,” shrugged Killian at lunchtime, when Emma, this time accompanied by a very inquisitive Ruby, found him in the library. “Bullies are just cowards at their core, and cowards are easy to intimidate. He won’t do anything because he won’t want to call my bluff. I might not be able to back it up but he’ll be too scared to risk finding out.” 

“And what would you have done if he _had_ called your bluff?” inquired Ruby. 

Killian shrugged again. “Probably got the shit kicked out of me.” 

“ _Would_ you have, though?” Ruby pressed, watching him through narrowed eyes.

He returned her stare with a look of wide-eyed innocence. “There were two of them to only one of me. Seems inevitable.” 

“ _Does_ it?” Ruby’s disbelief was almost palpable, and having fenced with Killian for months now Emma shared her friend’s suspicion that he was deliberately underplaying his fighting skills.

“Let’s hope we never have to find out,” said Killian with a small smile, in a tone of voice that made it clear he would answer no more questions on the subject. “I quite like my face arranged the way it is.” 

“It _is_ a nice face,” said Ruby with a wolfish grin that widened as Killian’s ears turned pink. “But I didn’t come here just to flatter you. Victor asked me to ask you if he could have your phone number.”

“My number?” Killian blinked in surprise. 

“Yeah, there’s some concert in Portland and he doesn’t have anyone to go with and he thought you might be interested.” 

“Um, sure, I guess.” Killian rattled off the number and Ruby sent Victor a text. A minute later his phone buzzed and he looked at it, snorting as he read the message. “Bit of a wanker, your boyfriend,” he remarked to Ruby. 

“I don’t know what that is but I’m somehow sure that Victor is one,” smirked Ruby. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Not at all, I’m rather fond of wankers,” said Killian absently as he typed his reply. “My brother is one, after all.” His phone buzzed again almost instantly and he raised an eyebrow at what he read on it. 

“Ems, I think maybe we should leave the boys to their chat,” said Ruby, and as much as she hated to sacrifice free time with Killian, from the way he was fixated on his phone, his expression almost gleeful as he typed rapidly, Emma had to admit she was probably right. 

“Okay,” she said. “See you in class in a few minutes, Killian. And maybe hang out after school?”

“Hmmm? Oh, I have an appointment with Dr Hopper at four, but I can text you when I’m done.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him but his attention was back on his phone, so she followed Ruby out of the library trying not to feel too disgruntled. Killian should have other friends, she told herelf firmly, male ones who shared his interests. That was normal, and he could use some normal in his life right now.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few weeks, things at school settled back into a routine, albeit one that was markedly different than it had been. Neal had been officially arrested after David’s investigation, charged with burglary, theft, and theft of a medical record, and was facing up to five years in prison. His parents had put up their house as collateral to pay his bail, but weren’t allowing him to return to school. 

“Not much point when he’ll just go straight back to the slammer after he’s sentenced,” said Ruby viciously. “So much for that football scholarship he was so cocky about.”

Emma tried to find some compassion for Neal and what was basically the wreck and ruin of his future, but couldn’t dredge up a single particle of it. He had committed several felonies for no other reason than to stick it to Killian for outsmarting him and for becoming her friend, and he’d committed them flagrantly and with no thought to the consequences. He’d probably thought there wouldn’t _be_ any consequences. Killian was right: Neal deserved everything that was coming to him, if only for being so colossally, arrogantly stupid. 

People still whispered about Killian as he walked through the halls but true to character he paid little attention. He did, however, gradually began to open up more and allow more of himself to show through his defences, willingly participating in classes and talking to people other than Emma and Ruby. By the time finals week arrived had actually made a few friends. 

Killian reflected wryly that in a twisted sort of way Neal had done him a favour. With all his secrets now out on the open he was free to embrace the opportunity for a new life he’d found in Storybrooke. Not that there had been anything particularly wrong with the old life, at least since his father had finally left. He’d been a mean old drunk, Brennan Jones, and by the time he’d been forced to flee his creditors for good, stealing a boat from Bristol harbour and melting into the offshore underworld, his sons had been glad to see the back of him. Killian thought about what he himself had been like back then, before Milah, and even though it had only been about a year since he’d first become involved with her so much had changed both in his circumstances and in himself, he feared that hopeful, enthusiastic boy was lost forever. Who exactly had taken his place was the question Killian had asked himself daily for weeks now, and he still wasn’t sure how to answer it. He’d become so used to holding everything in, to keeping such a tight rein on his thoughts and feelings that letting them out, accepting that it was okay to express them had become almost unbelievably difficult. The only person he felt even remotely comfortable being fully himself with aside from Liam was Emma, whose support and friendship remained unwavering as he bumbled and struggled thorough the reclamation of his life, and he remained intensely grateful for it. 

Only one thing about Emma troubled him-- that she no longer seemed to be interested in anything beyond his friendship. All the little hints and cues she had been giving him since they’d met were suddenly gone, and while he was relieved to be free of the added stress of constantly resisting something that part of him desperately wanted, he couldn’t help wondering if there was a darker motivation for this abrupt about-face. Perhaps, whispered an evil little voice in his head, Emma was actually more disgusted by his past than she let on and was simply too kind to tell him directly. Maybe the thought of him touching her turned her stomach now. He certainly couldn’t blame her if it did.   

“What do you want from your relationship with Emma?” asked Dr Hopper one afternoon, after Killian had finally brought himself to mention the change in her behaviour. “Do you want it to be romantic?”

Killian frowned, struggling to sort through the complex tangle of his feelings about and for Emma. “I don’t want a romantic relationship with _anyone,_ ” he said finally. “I still feel too messed up for anything like that. But I— I’m still really attracted to her. I think about her all the time, about how we kissed at her party, and I want to kiss her again pretty much constantly, but then I remember Milah and how I thought I felt about her, and I just—” 

“You don’t trust your judgement.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Killian, it’s important for you to remember that you have a much more equal relationship with Emma than you ever did with Milah.”

“Equal, with _Emma?_ ” Killian snorted. “You have met her, right?”

Dr Hopper smiled patiently. “I understand that you feel she’s beyond your reach, and that’s a separate issue, but what I mean by equal is that she’s your age and at your stage of life. With Milah you were constantly struggling to relate to her life and her experiences, and when you couldn’t you attempted to make up for that by offering her the affection and sexual attention she craved. You forced yourself to offer these things even though you didn’t genuinely feel them because you feared the consequences of not offering them. But with Emma there is no need to manufacture anything. She is placing no demands on you and therefore any attraction and affection you feel for her is genuine.”

“But what should I do about it?”

“Why should you have to do anything? You said you’re not ready for a romantic relationship, and that’s fine. Let yourself heal. The process is slow and frustrating, but believe me you are making progress. Let your feelings for Emma and your relationship with her develop at a pace that is comfortable for you. From what you’ve said it sounds like she will still be there when, _if_ , you’re ready for more.” 

“It’s more than likely she no longer wants more. And even if she did, what happens when she meets someone who isn’t so hopelessly fucked up? Then where does that leave me?”

“Why don’t you worry about that if — _not_ when— it happens?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the last day before winter break, Emma nervously approached Killian’s locker and handed him an invitation to her parents’ annual Christmas party addressed to him and Liam. 

“It’s just a thing they do every year for their friends and our neighbours,” she began to ramble as he examined the card, certain he would refuse and wanting to delay that painful moment. “My mom loves to entertain, and my dad says it’s good for building a rapport between law enforcement and the community, and—”

“Swan,” interrupted Killian, giving her that soft, indulgent look that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I’m sure we’d love to attend. Thank you for inviting us.” 

The butterflies soared in a grand jeté, and she felt like she was flying with them. “Great,” she said trying to keep her voice calm, “I guess I’ll see you then.”

Her delighted smile made his breath catch, and his answering grin set her heart galloping. Their eyes met and held, and as the end of semester chaos whirled around them they stood a breath apart, swathed in frustrated yearning and brittle tension, the only two people in the world.  

Then the final bell rang, and they leapt apart, Emma smoothing her skirt with shaking hands while Killian ran his own trembling fingers through his hair. 

“So, onion rings at Granny’s?” ventured Emma, wanting to kick herself for making him nervous again, after all her resolutions, hoping desperately he wouldn’t pull away. 

Killian sighed in relief, tinged with a hint of disappointment. Granny’s was safe. “Sounds perfect, love,” he said. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for feels.

Killian stood at the bathroom mirror fiddling with the knot of his tie, wishing he didn’t have to spend this already nerve-wracking evening feeling like he was being strangled. “Is this really necessary?” he grumbled. 

“It’s a formal party, little brother,” replied Liam, coming up behind him and batting his hands away from the knot. “Yes, you need a tie.” He adjusted Killian’s tie himself then placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and smiled at their reflections, feeling a small pang at the sight of them standing there together. Killian had grown so tall over the past year, now nearly as tall as Liam was himself, and dressed in a suit with his hair neatly combed he looked so grown up. Liam wanted to hug him but refrained, knowing that in his current mood Killian would scoff and pull away. Instead he stood, suddenly assailed by memories and by the wild thought that what he actually wanted was to go back in time and hug the little boy his brother had been the first time Liam had felt a similar pang.

_The day of his mother’s funeral was bright and sunny, which made Liam angry. Not even the weather was cooperating, remaining unseasonably warm and steadfastly refusing to turn grey and dark to match his mood. He had been scrambling for days to arrange everything, the church, the flowers, the service, the burial. It was far too much to take onto his young shoulders but he had no choice. His father had started drinking on the day the doctors proclaimed the tumour inoperable and terminal, and hadn’t stopped since. Liam had been so busy, so overwhelmed by the tasks and his grief and his anger at his father that he’d had barely any attention left for Killian, who fortunately at six didn’t fully understand what was going on around him and was content to play quietly while Liam handled things. When the dreaded day finally arrived they stood together before the casket, his brother’s small hand in his, Killian dressed in a suit and tie but with his dark hair falling over his forehead into his eyes. There hadn’t been time to have it cut. He tugged on Liam’s hand. “I can’t see,” he whispered._

_Liam lifted his brother up in his arms, watching Killian’s big eyes grow bigger as he took in the sight of their mother laid out in death, seeing the moment his brother grasped that she was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. He watched as Killian fought his tears for as long as he could —he always tried so hard to be brave— and he saw the moment when they would be held back no longer. Killian blinked rapidly, gulped, then turned his face into Liam’s shoulder and sobbed. Liam held him close, feeling his small body tremble and heave as he wept._

_He had always loved Killian, of course he had, both because and in spite of the decade between them, always had time for him, never minded him tagging along behind or his endless questions, but in that moment Liam’s heart was flooded by a surge of love unlike anything he had ever felt before. He knew then that he would protect his brother with everything he had in him, would lay down his life to that cause._

In that moment, Liam reflected now, he had become Killian’s parent. 

As with any parent he had made mistakes, hadn’t always lived up to his own standards. He had failed to protect Killian from Milah, failed even to notice that there was something amiss with him, although with hindsight the changes in his brother’s behaviour and attitude had been glaringly obvious. Almost overnight he had gone from an energetic, talkative boy to a sullen and moody one, responding curtly to questions and frequently disappearing for hours on end. Caught up in his investigation of Admiral Gold, Liam had simply shrugged all this away as the effects of adolescence. He cringed to remember it, wishing he could kick his past self, or maybe give him a good punch to the jaw. 

At least he had taken immediate and decisive action once he’d learned what was going on, thought Liam, removing Killian from Milah’s influence and taking him as far away from her as possible, then ensuring that he had the professional counseling he would need to deal with what he’d been through. He had done everything he could yet he still worried that it wasn’t enough, still ached every time he saw the shadows that lurked behind his brother’s eyes, still blamed himself for their presence.  

Killian cleared his throat, jolting Liam out of his reverie. He looked again at their reflection in the mirror, noting his brother’s exaggerated smirk. 

“Are we going to get going, then?” asked Killian, in an exasperated voice. “Or are we just going to stand here all night admiring our faces? Mine’s all right, but I definitely don’t want to be staring at yours for the next six hours.”

_To hell with it,_ thought Liam, and pulled his brother close, squeezing him hard. 

“Ugh, Liam, get off, you’re wrinkling me!” Killian, as expected, shoved him away. “If I have to wear this bloody thing the least you could do is not crease it.” 

Liam released him from the hug, rolling his eyes as Killian ostentatiously smoothed his jacket. “You look fine. Good even. Emma will swoon.” He grinned as Killian turned bright pink, then his expression softened into seriousness. “I just love you, little brother. You know that, right?”

Killian performed an eyeroll almost identical to Liam’s own. “Of course I do. I love you too.” He grinned. “Even though you’re annoying as fuck—”

“Language!” 

“— _and_ you’re going to make us late. Can we go now?”

“Lead the way, brother.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the Joneses arrived at the Swan house, they were engulfed by warmth and noise and energetic welcome, people eager to take their coats and get them a drink. Despite this effusive hospitality Killian was still nervous and antsy as he scanned the room to see who was there. To his relief he soon spotted Ruby and Victor —he had never been so glad to see Victor Whale’s smug grin, he thought— and was just turning to tell Liam that he was going to talk to them when his brother stopped dead, his mouth dropping open and his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. 

“What the devil is wrong with you?” asked Killian, astonished.

“I— um, er, I—” Liam swallowed, blinked, and shook his head. “Who is that?” He nodded in the direction of a petite brunette standing a few feet away, talking animatedly with Ruby’s grandmother. 

“Um, Miss French?” ventured Killian, certain Liam couldn’t be referring to Granny but baffled as to why the school librarian would inspire such a reaction in his brother. 

“Miss French?” echoed Liam. “The librarian? The one you’re doing your independent study with?”

“Yeah?” Killian was completely confused now. “Why do you ask?”

“Er— no reason,” said Liam, fidgeting uncomfortably. “I just— um, thought she’d be older.” 

A glimmer of comprehension was beginning to dawn in Killian’s mind, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from breaking into an enormous grin. “Would you like me to introduce you?” he asked innocently.

Liam seemed to choke on his words again and before he could recover Killian had caught Miss French’s attention and beckoned her over. 

“Hello, Killian, I thought I might see you here,” she greeted him with a friendly smile. “How have you been enjoying your holidays so far? Is it very different from England?”

“Very,” said Killian wryly. “More snow, for a start. Though I would imagine it’s a lot more different for you.” 

“Well it’s summer in Australia, so yeah, pretty different,” she laughed, and from the corner of his eye Killian could see that his brother’s ears had gone bright red. The Jones family tell. This was _excellent._  

“Miss French, this is my brother Liam.” Killian dug his elbow into Liam’s ribs, jolting his brother out of what appeared to be a fugue state. “He went to Australia several times when he was in the Royal Navy.” 

“Really?” Miss French turned her attention to the elder Jones, and Killian could swear he heard Liam’s Adam’s apple scrape across his dry throat. “What places did you visit?”

As Liam attempted to choke out anything resembling a coherent answer, Killian spotted Emma’s mother bearing down on them with a tray of drinks and moved to intercept her before she could interrupt and possibly extinguish the sputtering sparks of his brother’s romance. “Let me take those for you, Mrs Swan,” he said, flashing her a brilliant smile. She blinked for a moment, slightly dazed, then returned it. 

“Why thank you, Killian, that’s very kind,” she said, angling the tray so he could take his hot spiced apple cider and Liam’s hot buttered rum. He turned back and handed Liam his drink, just in time to hear his brother stuttering something about the Sydney Harbour Bridge, to Miss French’s evident amusement. 

“Oh thank bloody fuck,” muttered Liam under his breath as he took the mug. 

“Language!” admonished Killian, smiling angelically as his brother glared daggers at him over the mug’s rim. “I’m just going to go talk to Ruby and Victor, see you later Liam, Miss French.” 

As Liam stared helplessly at his brother’s retreating back, the vision of loveliness that was somehow the high school librarian spoke again. Desperately he tried not to think about how her voice was like a song, and focus on her words instead. 

“I’m actually glad to have a chance to speak with you, Mr Jones—” 

“Liam,” he croaked. _Why_ was his throat so dry? He’d drunk nearly half the rum.

“I beg your pardon?” She blinked the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and he nearly forgot his own name. 

“Er—” he cleared his throat. “My name, it’s um, Liam. Please call me Liam.”

“Liam,” she repeated, smiling again. He wished she would stop doing that so he could bloody _breathe_ , and also that she would never stop because she was stunning. “I’m Belle.” 

_Belle,_ he thought. _French for ‘beautiful.’ Almost too on-the-nose, yet somehow perfect._

“Belle,” he said softly. “It suits you.” 

She flushed a glorious shade of rose pink. “My mother named me,” she said, almost shyly. He wanted to ask her all about her mother and her father and everyone else close to her and all her thoughts and hopes and dreams but before he could even open his mouth again she steered the conversation back to the point. “Liam, I wanted to talk to you about Killian.” 

“Killian?” Liam was shaken out of his fuckstruck haze by a flash of fear. “What about him? Is there a problem?”

“No, no, nothing like that! He’s one of the brightest students I’ve had the pleasure of working with, but— well, you see, in addition to being the librarian I am also the college admissions counselor. I was hoping we might discuss Killian’s options for university.” 

“He’s going to Oxford,” said Liam automatically. 

“Yes, I know he’s been offered a place there, it’s just, well, what with everything that’s happened and the way Killian seems to be finally settling into life here in the US, I thought he might not wish to return to England for uni. Especially if _you_ plan to remain here.” 

Liam’s mind whirled. He’d been so caught up in dealing with Killian’s current drama that he hadn’t spared a thought for the drama that was to come. The one thing that his brother had been absolutely certain about since the secret broke was that he no longer wished to return to England. Did that include Oxford? Liam somehow suspected it did. 

“I do plan to remain here,” he replied. “I like my job very much and feel surprisingly at home in Storybrooke. Killian does as well.” He’d never given the matter much consideration before, but now that he thought about it he realised how true this was. Storybrooke, after only a few short months, felt like home in the way his hometown never had.

Belle laughed. “Storybrooke has a way of doing that to people,” she said. “I only intended to stay a year myself, but it’ll be five years for me, in July.” 

“I don’t think,” said Liam slowly, thinking hard, “that Killian is as dead set on Oxford as he once was. But if he stays in the US for uni I’d need to be certain that he had access to the same quality of education he’d have received there. And then there’s the question of, er, finance. He’d have a bursary at Oxford.”  

Belle smiled reassuringly. “I don’t think either of those things will present an insurmountable problem,” she said. “Let me tell you some of the ideas I’ve had, and then if you’re agreeable we can broach the subject to Killian.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Emma had finished helping her mother with hosting duties and was able to actually join the party, Killian, Ruby, and Victor —accompanied, Emma was irritated to note, by Aurora— were settled comfortably on and around the end of her living room sofa, laughing uproariously. 

“What’s so funny?” Emma whispered to Ruby. 

Victor and Killian are just telling stories from their road trip the other day,” Ruby replied. Earlier that week Victor and Killian had driven down to Portland for the concert Victor had wanted to see. Caught up in her mother’s whirlwind of party planning, Emma hadn’t had a chance to see or speak to Killian at all over the past few days, and now she couldn’t help feeling a bit left out. Usually she was the first person Killian told anything —for a while she had been the _only_ one— yet now she had no idea what tale he’d been recounting. Again, she reminded herself that this was good, that he needed other friends. That she was glad he’d found them in Storybrooke.  Still, the vicious talons of her jealousy would not relinquish their grasp, particularly when Aurora leaned close to him, eyes shining with laughter, and touched his arm as she cried “And _then_ what happened?”

Killian delivered his punch line and the group exploded in laughter. Aurora’s hand slid, oh so casually, from Killian’s arm and onto his leg. Emma waited for her to remove it, or for Killian to pull away, but instead he remained where he was and she actually slid _closer_ to him on the couch, and Emma’s vision went red around the edges. _Don’t be a jerk, Emma,_ she begged herself, _just let it go,_ even as her mouth opened and she heard her voice say “I’m surprised to see you here, Aurora. You’ve never come to our party before.”

Their mothers were good friends and they had grown up next door to each other, but for some reason Aurora and Emma had never been close. 

“Oh, it just seemed like it might be fun this year,” said Aurora, with a significant glance at Killian, who had just taken his phone out to show Ruby some pictures and was paying no attention. Her hand was _still_ on his leg, and she flexed her fingers slightly. Emma felt her face grow hot and her own fingers itched to grab Aurora by the hair and drag her from the house. She could cool off in a snow drift, thought Emma viciously, it might do her good. 

And what the _hell_ was going on with Killian, she fumed. He didn’t even seem to notice Aurora was touching him. Not like the way he tensed and looked uncomfortable if Emma even so much as brushed up against him. What the _fuck_ was that about?

Why the fuck was she thinking “fuck”? What was _wrong_ with her?

“Swan?” Emma shook herself out of her thoughts at the sound of Killian’s voice. “Is everything all right?” 

She tried to smile but could tell from the way his brow wrinkled that he wasn’t buying it. “I’m fine. Um, can I talk to you?” 

He smiled, and his was genuine. “Of course, love.” He stood and followed her away from the group, not noticing as Aurora’s hand slid off him. 

Emma didn’t really know what she wanted to say, only that she wanted him away from Aurora. So it came as much of a surprise to her as to him when the words “Do you want to take a walk in the garden?” fell from her lips. 

“The garden? Isn’t it covered in snow?” 

She shrugged. “It’s still pretty, and, I don’t know, I feel like I need some air.” 

Killian shrugged too. “Sure,” he grinned at her. “Whatever you wish, Swan.” 

He offered her his arm and she giggled as she linked her own thorough it. As they turned away she caught a glimpse of Aurora’s face falling into a pout and felt a wash of emotion she couldn’t put a name to. Triumph? Relief? It didn’t feel quite like either. All she knew was that Killian had agreed to come with her not just willingly but gladly. He still preferred her company over any other’s, and that made her happy. 

They put on their coats and she exchanged her heels for boots, glad she’d chosen to wear thick tights with her dress. Killian had only his dress shoes so she dug out an old pair of her dad’s boots, which _almost_ fit, and a thick pair of socks. Soon they were bundled up and ready, and linking arms again they headed out to the snowy garden.

It was a large, well-tended space, a testament to her mother’s affinity with nature, with a walled-off vegetable area to the left and a thick rose hedge at the back, separating their house from Aurora’s.  At the centre of it all stood a huge, sprawling tree, with branches that reached to the furthest corners of the garden and a large white swing hanging from the sturdiest one. 

“This is the apple tree my aunt Regina gave Mom when I was born,” said Emma as they approached it. “They’re stepsisters and they never really got along, but when Mom was pregnant with me they had a huge fight and Regina knocked Mom down a flight of stairs. She almost miscarried me. Aunt Regina felt terrible and tried to make amends with the tree. I don’t think Mom was exactly thrilled; Aunt Regina is kind of weirdly obsessed with those apples and it makes Mom a bit uncomfortable. But she said Regina was trying to make a gesture of goodwill and she could do the same, so she planted it, and since then they’ve made an effort to be civil, or at least not to be completely awful to each other. About three years ago Mom actually set Aunt Regina up with her husband. Or, he’s now her husband. You know what I mean.”

“Indeed. It’s good that they were able to settle their differences, even if only in part.” 

“I think they’re too different to ever really be close, but I’m glad they don’t fight anymore. And I like Aunt Regina well enough. She can be a bit… abrasive, but she always tries to be nice to me.” 

“Well, she _did_ nearly kill you, so nice is really the least she could do.” said Killian, his voice gruff.

Emma laughed. “That’s what Dad says.” 

Killian chuckled and tightened his arm around hers, almost protectively. She snuggled into his side and leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling him tense just briefly before he relaxed with a small sigh, and she thought she felt his cheek brush her hair. “Can I ask you something?” he asked. 

“You just did.” 

He sighed again, dramatically this time, and she could almost _feel_ his eyes roll. “Another thing, then,” he said. 

“Sure.” 

“Is your mum’s name really Snow?”

“Yep.”

“And— is there a story behind that?” 

“She says it’s the curse of hippie parents and I should be grateful she rebelled against her upbringing when naming me.”

“Hold up,” Killian stopped walking and looked down at her. “You’re telling me that if she’d stuck with family tradition you could have been named Rain? Or Sleet?” Emma began to laugh. “Or Blizzard? Or Drizzle? What an opportunity missed!” He sounded almost indignant.

“Drizzle Swan?” Emma could barely choke out the words through her laughter. “Really?”

“There’s dozens of words for precipitation, love, your mum could really have flexed her creativity. I mean, there’s flurry, hail, spit—”

“ _Spit?!_ ”

“It’s a real weather thing! Or what about monsoon? Or torrent? Torrent sounds like something people might name their kids these days.”

Emma was laughing so hard she snorted, which made her laugh harder. She buried her face in Killian’s shoulder and for the first time since she’d found out about his past he didn’t stiffen when she got close to him. He was too busy laughing himself, his shoulder shaking under her cheek as he held onto her arm, his other hand gripping the back of her coat. He turned his face into her hair and she turned hers into his neck, and as their laughter faded their arms shifted and tightened around each other until they were standing in the middle of the garden, twined together, snow falling softly around them. 

They stood like that for a long time. Finally Killian sighed, his breath tickling the fine hairs on her temple and making her shiver. “Emma,” he said, in a voice so soft she could barely hear it, “I wish things were different.” 

“They could be—” 

“No. They are what they are and we have to deal with them. _I_ have to deal with them. I just— I need time to sort myself out.” 

Familiar pain twisted within her, but she kept her grip on her emotions. “I understand,” she said. “I really do, and I don’t want anything from you that you’re not able to offer freely. I’ll wait.” 

“I could never ask you to—” 

“I want to.” _I love you. I’d wait forever_. She swallowed the words back, knowing he wasn’t ready to hear them. 

“Swan, I don’t deserve—” he began, and her pain was burned away in a bright flash of cleansing anger. She was so _sick_ of him thinking himself worthless because of what that— that— Emma didn’t even like to _think_ the word she had in mind for Milah, but she certainly felt it— what that _woman_ had done to him. Pulling back from the embrace, she fixed him with a glare and fisted her hand in the front of his coat, thumping his chest with it. 

“Yes,” she said firmly, almost snarling. “You _do_. You deserve— so much,” she finished lamely, unable to say what she wanted to say without revealing far too much. 

He looked down at her and their eyes met, his overflowing with the same desperately conflicted yearning they’d held the night of his birthday. She could see in them that he wanted to kiss her, and more than anything in the world she wanted to let him, longed to feel his lips and tongue on hers again, as she had countless times in her dreams. She wanted to wrap herself around him and sink into him, to absorb his pain and guilt and burn them away with the fire of the fury she still felt on his behalf. She wanted all this and more, but she also knew that he didn’t, not really. He wasn’t ready. 

Gathering every ounce of willpower she possessed, she stepped back, out of his arms, before he could do something he’d regret. 

His expressive eyes flashed with disappointment, followed quickly by relief. 

Emma swallowed the lump in her throat, forced it down. This was the right thing, she reminded herself. However much it hurt, it was the right thing. And therefore the only thing. 

“Come on,” she said, summoning a bright smile from God knows where. “Let’s get back inside. It’s freaking freezing out here. What idiot thought it was a good idea to stand in the garden in the middle of winter?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your Killian is a lovely young man,” said Snow some hours later as they collected empty plates and mugs and loaded them into the dishwasher.  

The butterflies did a quick jitterbug in Emma’s belly, but she managed to roll her eyes. “Mo-om, he’s not _my_ Killian.” 

“Are you sure about that, dear?” asked Snow, in the sing-song voice that never failed to raise Emma’s hackles. 

“Mom, please don’t try to matchmake us,” she pleaded. “Killian’s made it clear he just wants to be friends.” That wasn’t _entirely_ true, but her mom definitely didn’t need to know about what had happened in the garden. 

“Emma, you know perfectly well I don’t matchmake,” scolded Snow. 

“Yeah?” Emma tried to imitate Killian’s eyebrow quirk but only succeeded in looking surprised. “Tell that to Lance. Or Jasmine. Or _Aunt Regina_ , and you don’t even _like_ her!”

“I like your Aunt Regina!” protested Snow, unconvincingly, as a telling flush bloomed on her cheeks. “We’ve worked hard to put aside our differences.” 

“Uh huh,” said Emma, forbearing to point out that those differences had evidently not been put far enough aside for her step-aunt to accept Snow’s invitation to this party. “Mayoral business” had been her excuse, but Emma had it on no lesser authority than that of her cousin Henry that the Mayor’s office was already closed for the year, and he, Regina, and Robin were planning to spend Christmas skiing in Aspen. 

“And anyway,” Snow persisted, “I don’t have to like someone to think they deserve a happy ending. You definitely deserve one.” 

“Well, I’m not going to have my happy ending with Killian, so can you drop it please?” If she repeated this enough, thought Emma, she might eventually believe it.  

“Of course, sweetie, I won’t push,” said Snow. “But— don’t write Killian off just yet.” 

She smiled her serene smile and refused to be drawn out any further on the subject. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eagle-eyed among you may remember that I called Snow Mary Margaret earlier in this story. That’s now been changed. She’s much more Snow than MM here, and the name change led to the garden scene, which is not what I’d intended but I think is going to take the story in a better direction.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst! Angst and pining and indecision. Teenagers are so dramatic.

When they returned to school for the spring semester Killian found that his relationship with Emma had undergone a subtle change. The tension that he had carried within him since they’d met, born of his fear of discovery and his sense of having failed at life coupled with his reluctance to taint the bright, shining star that was Emma Swan by association with him had finally been released. He had nothing more to fear, nothing to weigh him down. His secret was out, he’d survived the fallout at school, and he wasn’t going to be a father. Milah was gone from his life, off to Japan. And most importantly, Emma didn’t hate him. His past didn’t disgust her. She was his friend. His friend with the _potential_ for more. 

Their interlude in the garden had reassured him that she did still want to be more but that she wouldn’t push him, would wait until he had worked through his feelings enough to take that next step. Nothing had ever meant more to him than her acceptance of him and everything that he was, her patience, and her willingness to let him set the pace. After Milah he desperately needed to feel like he had some agency in his life and relationships. That Emma understood this and wasn’t giving up on him was a treasure more precious than gold. 

As the weeks passed and he became more and more comfortable in his own skin, he realised that without really thinking about it he had stopped trying to hold himself apart from his classmates or resist Emma’s naturally affectionate nature. In class he laughed and joked and teased the girls, no longer uncomfortable with the attention his innate charisma attracted. Outside of class he was nearly always with Emma, finally able to relax and enjoy how happy he felt in her company. All the little touches that she gave without thinking no longer made him anxious or upset, though they never failed to increase his heart rate or send electricity skittering across his skin. Gradually, cautiously, he began to reciprocate them, and by the time the snow had melted and spring was beginning to break over Storybrooke, his days regularly included Emma’s head on his shoulder, his fingers tangled in the ends of her hair, her nose pressed into the curve of his neck as she hugged him goodbye. She made him feel things he had never felt before, very different from what he’d felt for Milah. Noticeably different. Different enough to make him wonder if this was actually what love felt like. He thought it was, he _wanted_ it to be, but after the disaster of Milah how could he be certain? How the devil was he supposed to _know?_  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One afternoon in early March Killian was nearly at the door of Dr Hopper’s office, lost in contemplation, when Neal Cassidy appeared suddenly in his path. 

“I see you’ve returned to the scene of your crime,” sneered Killian, though his heart really wasn’t in the taunt. He had no interest in engaging with Neal; more than anything he just wanted the bastard out of his life and of Emma’s, would be happy never to think of him again. “I guess it’s true what they say about that.” 

Neal scowled, but he didn’t attempt to retaliate. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet, looking angry but also faintly nervous. 

“So, uh, can I talk to you?”

“You already are.” 

“Right. Um, well I— I have to— um…” 

“Look, spit it out, mate. I’m going to be late, and I’d far rather converse with Dr Hopper. At least he can form complete sentences.” 

Neal’s expression darkened and clenched his fists in his pockets. 

“I have a plea deal!” he burst out suddenly. “For— for stealing your records.” 

“So I heard.” 

Neal’s lawyer had managed to plead down to nine months in jail plus three years’ probation and a two thousand dollar fine. He’d tried for no jail time, citing Neal’s age and lack of prior offenses, but the judge had insisted on treating him as an adult due to the very specific malice of the crime. The end result was not as bad as it could have been but worse than his parents had been hoping. If he kept his nose clean Neal would probably be all right in the long run, but the whole thing was still quite a blow to his future. Killian had little sympathy.

“As part of the deal I have to apologise to you,” said Neal, glaring at his feet. 

Killian snorted. “Don’t bother.” 

“I have to! Fucking judge is making me. If you don’t accept it I get another two months.” He made this admission grudgingly, not wanting to acknowledge the power it gave Killian over him.

With effort, Killian held back a grin. He’d spoken to Judge Merlin before Neal’s sentencing and so knew to expect something like this, but putting that particular condition on Neal’s grovelling was pretty diabolical. “Unless it’s a genuine apology, I’m not interested,” he said, twisting the knife. 

Neal shuffled his feet again, looking shifty. “It’s genuine.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” Killian almost laughed at the insulted look that crossed Neal’s face, but he wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight, and really just wanted to be done with this conversation. He opened his mouth to accept the “apology,” when Neal spoke again.

“Look, why are you being such an asshole?” he burst out. “You won. You’ve got Emma—”

Killian’s eyebrows snapped together. “ _‘Got’_ Emma?!” he growled. 

“—and you’re all popular now.” Neal scowled, seeming more put out by the second thing than the first.

Killian however was still caught up on the first. “I haven’t ‘got’ Emma,” he said indignantly.

“Come on, man, I saw you two at Granny’s last week looking pretty cosy,” sneered Neal. “I’d say the best man won, but, well…” he smirked snidely. 

Killian shook his head, too appalled to respond to the taunt. “Is that really how you see this?” he asked. “Emma’s just a prize to be won?”

“You’re the one who called her the princess of Storybrooke. Of course she’s a prize. Look what she did for you. Do you really think you’d be anything without her?”

“This is one hell of an apology you’re making,” said Killian drily. “The sincerity is just shining through.” 

Neal rolled his eyes and sighed. “What do you want from me, man?”

“Not a thing,” replied Killian decisively. “I never did. If you had just left me alone none of this would have happened. Emma and I have never been anything but friends. But all you could see was someone ‘stealing’ your girlfriend. You only ever saw her as your possession, the prettiest cheerleader, the girl everyone wants. The one who would make people envy you, because she was ‘yours’. Only Emma is not yours, and she never was. She’s her own person, a brilliant, strong, incredible person. And she’ll never belong to anyone but herself.”

Neal was staring at him, mouth agape. “You in love with her or something?” he taunted, the corner of his lips curling into a sneer.

Killian squared his shoulders and raised himself to his full height.“What if I am?” he asked, meeting Neal’s gaze, challenge glinting in his eyes, daring the other boy to make something of it.

Neal dropped his eyes and shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. It’s nothing to me.” 

“Good. You can tell the judge that I accept your spurious apology, and now kindly fuck off.” Killian smirked at Neal’s confused expression. He clearly didn’t know what “spurious” meant but Judge Merlin would, and Killian suspected he’d get a kick out of it. Holding the smirk on his face he started walking again, straight towards Neal, forcing the other boy to step aside so he could pass. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That Sunday Killian hung back after fencing club, waiting until all the others had left and David had gathered all the equipment. Emma was away, having a spa weekend with her mother to celebrate Snow’s 45th birthday, and for once he was glad she wasn’t around. He needed a private word with David.

“Can I talk to you about something, Sheriff Swan?” he asked tentatively, desperate for David’s advice but fearful of overstepping with Emma’s father. 

“Sure, Killian, what’s on your mind?” David smiled warmly and Killian relaxed. 

“Would you mind if I walked out with you? It’s kind of a long question.” 

David gave him a probing look, then nodded. It was clear to him that Killian was struggling with something. “Why don’t I give you a lift home?” he offered. “I know Emma usually does, so it’ll save you the walk since she’s not here.”

Killian smiled. “Thanks.” 

They walked in silence to David’s truck, Killian clearly thinking hard about what he wanted to say, and it wasn’t until they had pulled out of the school parking lot and onto the main street that he finally spoke. 

“How do you know when you’re in love?”

David nearly swallowed his tongue. “Um,” he said. “That’s— uh, that’s a big question. Are you sure you want to be talking with me about this? What about your brother, or Dr Hopper?”

“Dr Hopper’s always been single, and Liam’s only recently removed his head from his ars— er, asked Miss French out. But Emma told me you and Mrs Swan have been together since you were sixteen. That’s nearly thirty years” —David winced— “so I think if anyone in Storybrooke can speak on this subject it’s you.” He looked imploringly at David. “So how do you _know?_ ”

David sighed. “Well, I won’t pretend it’s not a bit awkward to be discussing my daughter this way—“ he paused as a wild thought hit him. “We are talking about Emma, aren’t we?”

“We are _definitely_ talking about Emma,” Killian replied, and David’s lips twitched at the certainty in his voice. He suspected Killian already knew the answer to his question, he just needed some reassurance.

“Yeah, I don’t really want to know the details about that, but I can tell you how I knew I was in love with Snow.” 

“If you don’t mind, that’s what I’d really like to hear.” 

“It was our last year of high school,” said David, smiling at the memory. “We’d been dating for two years at that point, and I was pretty sure I loved her but I was worried because we were planning to go to different colleges and I wasn’t sure we’d make it long distance. Snow was— well, she was stunning. Bold and bright and beautiful.”

Killian nodded in understanding. “Like her daughter,” he said softly. 

“Like her daughter,” David agreed. “Snow was going to Columbia, and I was sure she’d be swept off her feet there by some rich New York City asshole.” Killian’s eyes widened slightly at his language and David chuckled. “Then one day I came home from baseball practice and discovered that my house had been broken into,” he continued. “They took our TV and our stereo, all of that, but more importantly they took my mother’s jewelry bag, which contained her wedding ring. The ring she’d always told me would be mine one day, to give to my bride. Well you can imagine how upset I was. I went to call the police but just as I was picking up the phone it started ringing. It was Snow. She said she’d seen the burglars leaving my house —she lived just across the street— and she’d followed them. She told me where they’d taken our things, and—” he paused, grinning to himself, “—well, let’s just say we managed to get in and get my mom’s ring back. We called the police for all the other stuff, but the ring was what was important. When we got back to my house Snow asked to see the ring, and jokingly put it on. As soon as I saw it on her finger, I just knew. I knew that any girl whose first instinct on seeing a burglary wasn’t to call the cops but to follow the burglars, anyone who could lead me on an adventure to rescue my ring, that was a girl I wanted to spend my life with. And I knew that she’d always have my back, no matter how many rich assholes she met in New York.” 

“So to answer your question, Killian,” he said, suddenly serious and conscious of the vital import of the advice he was giving, “I think there are many different kinds of love. I think it’s possible for people to love many times in their lives and to fall out of it just as they fall in, and I believe it’s possible to find the love of your life when you’re sixteen. But if you’re asking me how to know when love will last, and I do think that is what you’re asking, I don’t believe that there’s a— a rubric for that. I think you just know. When you can’t imagine your future without that person; when you know that you’ll be able to survive being separated from them by school or work or life because your bond is strong enough to hold even over long distances but when being with them is what makes you feel strong and whole, and happy even when you’re sad; when they’re the first person you turn to for support but you’re still prepared to put their needs before your own and sacrifice whatever is necessary for them, that’s love that will last. That’s love that can survive anything.”

David glanced over at Killian, who was staring out the window with a thoughtful expression on his face. He didn’t want to push or overly influence the boy, knowing that any decisions about his future had to be his alone, yet David couldn’t suppress the feeling that he was looking at his future son-in-law. Because Killian was right: David did know what true love looked like, even in its infancy, and it looked like Emma and Killian. It looked like his confident, self-assured, (and yes, he’d admit it) slightly spoiled daughter learning to put another person’s needs and wishes before her own, and doing it gladly because she wanted what was best for him more than her own happiness. It looked like this defensive, traumatised boy facing down his demons and learning to open up again for her sake, so that he could be capable of offering the love he felt she deserved. It looked like him taking the risk of speaking to her father, to be sure that what he felt was real. 

David hadn’t missed the sadness that had lain beneath Emma’s habitual bright demeanor ever since the Christmas party, the fear that Killian would never return her love. But although his heart hurt for his baby girl, David wasn’t worried. He believed that true loves always found each other, no matter what obstacles lay between them. These two would work things out. 

He pulled up in front of the Jones house and put the truck into park before turning to face Killian, who was still sitting unmoving in the passenger seat. “I hope I was able to help,” he said, “At least a little bit.” 

“You did,” replied Killian, picking up his bag and opening the door. “Thank you for telling me that story, I know it’s really none of my business.” 

 _It’s our family lore,_ David wanted to tell him, _and you’re family. Maybe not yet, but you will be._  

Instead he simply said, “You’re welcome,” biting back the “son,” before it could slip past his guard. Killian smiled and nodded, then turned and shut the door behind him. David waited until he had entered the house before starting the truck up again and driving off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the end of March their AP US History teacher announced that over the next two months they would spend two days a week working on a major research project that would constitute 50% of their final grade. And it would be a pair project. That they would be expected to work on outside of class as well. Amid the groans and whines of their classmates, Emma and Killian locked eyes across the classroom, silently agreeing to be partners. This hellish sounding project might become something actually enjoyable if they worked together, they thought. 

Their plans were dashed a moment later by the teacher, who counted off the rows of desks 1-2, 1-2, then informed everyone in row 1 to look to their left and everyone in row 2 to look to their right. “The person you’re looking at is your partner,” the teacher declared. “I don’t want any squabbling or bickering about choosing partners, so I’m choosing them for you. No arguments.” 

Emma was barely even dismayed to learn that she would be working with Walsh, a skinny junior she knew for a fact had a massive crush on her —he spent quite a lot of class time drawing creepy pictures of her in his notebook— and who was looking like all his Christmases had come at once. She was far too busy being devastated to observe that Killian’s partner was Aurora. Aurora who clearly didn’t share her dismay, but was smiling brilliantly at Killian and already taking out her phone to exchange contact details with him. Killian, she noted, didn’t look particularly upset either, smiling as he gave Aurora his phone number. Absently, she took Walsh’s number and told him not to call her, she’d call him. She spent the rest of the period poring over the assignment instructions and figuring out how to divide the work so she’d have to spend as little time with him as possible, while determinedly not looking at Killian and Aurora.

She was more successful with the first task than the second.

They looked to be having a _great_ time together. 

Her next class was in the opposite direction to Killian’s, so they normally only exchanged a word or two before heading on their respective ways. Today Aurora followed at Killian’s elbow as he left the classroom, chatting brightly about ideas for their project and what times they could get together to work on it. 

Killian waved to Emma as they passed, rolling his eyes over Aurora’s head and making a “blah blah” gesture with his hand. “She won’t shut up,” he mouthed, and Emma nodded in agreement, her earlier jealousy appeased somewhat. 

“Text me later,” she mouthed back, and he nodded, winking at her in that way that always set her butterflies to waltzing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, weeks during which Emma’s library lunchtimes with Killian had been routinely invaded by an Aurora who was suddenly more interested in doing homework than she had ever been before in her life, Emma was rounding the corner of the school building heading for the parking lot when she spotted Aurora and Killian a few feet away, deep in conversation. She stopped abruptly, wondering if she should interrupt. She had to go spend an hour with Walsh at Granny’s to work on their project, but she’d arranged for Killian to meet her there exactly when the hour was up, to make sure that Walsh didn’t try to extend the agreed upon time as he’d done at every other project meeting they’d had. It made sense that Killian would spend the hour before meeting her working with Aurora, yet somehow this discussion they were having seemed… different. Not school related.

Emma was torn. She trusted Killian, completely, and with her head she had no reason to believe that he had any interest in Aurora. He treated her exactly the same way he treated every other girl, warm and teasing, making them laugh, but Emma knew him well enough to see the way he used his charm to keep them at a safe distance away. When Killian was being completely himself he was intense and earnest and sweet, revealing the full depth of his brilliant mind and sensitive emotions. Emma was certain he could never open himself up that much to Aurora, about whom he made frequent and pointed remarks regarding her minimal intelligence and tendency to chatter inanely and ceaselessly. “She makes my head hurt,” he’d said just the day before, collapsing next to Emma in their booth at Granny’s and dropping the head in question into his hands, allowing her to rub the tension from his neck and shoulders. 

And yet there was something about Aurora’s manner, about the way she always seemed to be alluding to things she and Killian had talked about or done outside of school —how much time _were_ they spending on this project, Emma wondered— and the way she never missed an opportunity to touch him, the way he never objected or seemed upset by her hand on his arm or shoulder, the way he leaned his head close to hers when they worked, that planted a tiny, niggling seed of doubt in Emma’s heart that she could not stamp out or uproot, no matter how much logic she applied. 

After all, Killian still didn’t seem to want to take things any further with _her_. Maybe he really did just see her as a friend. An intimate friend, his best friend, surely, but still just a friend. Maybe Aurora, even with all her chatter, was simply more his type. Maybe he found _ways_ to shut her up. Emma’s whole body cringed at that thought. She didn’t believe it, _knew_ it couldn’t be true, but the tiny pinprick of doubt still persisted. 

It pricked her sharply now as she stood watching them, wondering what to do, then turned abruptly into a sword and slashed her chest open when Aurora threw her arms around Killian’s neck and kissed him. 

Emma stood for a moment, frozen in shock, then forced herself back around the corner on legs that were barely functional, stumbling as they buckled under her and landing hard against the wall, scraping her hand and arm in the process. She pressed her cheek into the abrasive cold of the brick, gasping for the air that had been sucked from her lungs, blinded by tears and immobilised by agony. Desperately she tried to catch her breath, to hold in her sobs, not wanting anyone to hear her cry, wanting only to get away, to find someplace private where she could pull herself together and lick her wounds alone. The idea of anyone seeing her, wanting to know what was wrong, made her chest tighten in panic. She knew she wouldn’t be able to bear any sympathy or concern, wouldn’t even be able to tell anyone why she was so upset. Not even her father, who’d always been her closest confidant. This hurt went too deep to talk about. 

She began to run in the opposite direction, back into the school building, heading for the cafeteria and its side door, praying it would still be unlocked. She raced through the halls, ignoring the curious looks from the few students who still remained, ignoring the shouts from her psychology teacher not to run in the halls. Arriving at the cafeteria door she wrenched it open and raced across the small outdoor lunch area, through the gap in the chain link fence separating it from the parking lot and towards her car. She didn’t look over to where Killian and Aurora might still be standing, just visible from where her car was parked, instead pulling open the door and throwing herself onto the back seat. She slammed the door behind her and locked it then curled herself into a tight ball and wept, sobbing out her unrequited love, her dashed hopes, her broken heart. 

Twenty minutes later she was limp and exhausted, her eyes swollen and her throat raw, with no more tears left to cry. Dimly she registered that her phone was buzzing and had been for a solid five minutes. Mustering her strength, she glanced at the screen and would have rolled her eyes if they hadn’t ached so badly. Fifteen messages from Walsh, asking where she was. Practically one per minute. _Not feeling well,_ she texted him. _Sorry._  

Killian would be expecting her at Granny’s as well, she remembered. Part of her wanted badly to see him, a small part that was still hoping that she’d misunderstood, despite the image burned into the back of her eyelids of Aurora in Killian’s arms, her lips on his, but she knew that she couldn’t. She was too delicate, too raw. She needed time to process, to adjust, to figure out how the hell she was going to survive seeing them together, the girl she despised and the boy she loved. Her fingers trembled as she opened her WhatsApp chat with Killian and tapped on the picture he’d sent her just last night. A selfie he’d taken of the two of them at the docks preparing for the sailing trip they’d taken last Saturday. His chin was resting on her head, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, her hands curved around his wrist and forearm. They were both grinning like fools. 

They looked so happy. 

This was a test of her resolve, Emma realised. She’d promised herself that she would be Killian’s friend no matter what, even if their relationship could never be more than that, and she knew that if she truly loved him she had to keep that promise. Even though she wanted nothing more than to run, to protect herself from the pain of seeing him with Aurora, of knowing that her love was not returned. At least not in the way she wanted. 

She couldn’t handle seeing him, not today. Maybe not for a while. Forcing her fingers to cooperate, she typed out a message. 

_Hey, I’m not feeling well, can we do Granny’s another time?_

His reply came almost instantly. _Sure, love. Are you okay?_

Moisture welled behind her eyes and she almost laughed. Apparently she did still have more tears to cry. _Fine, just a headache,_ she texted back. _I’ll see you tomorrow._  

It was the first lie she’d ever told him. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch of this story now! It's going to cover the end of the school year and then an epilogue, so this chapter plus another two, probably. Thanks so much to you all for reading, and especially for leaving comments. I know I'm terrible at replying, but please know that every single one makes me smile and I so appreciate them. 
> 
> This chapter flirts just a bit with the M rating, though it's Liam and Belle who are getting naughty, not Emma and Killian. It's really just a hint of smut, but if you'd rather not read it, that scene is in italics so just skip over :).

For a moment Killian stood immobile, his body frozen as his mind tumbled backwards into a nightmare, an old familiar one from which he had only recently awoken. 

_No,_ he thought frantically, pushing back against the paralysis. _No, not again._ _I won’t have this again._  

Anger surged through him, saving anger, the anger he’d buried, for his own sake, at Dr Hopper’s advice, but which he’d been unable to quench completely. Now it blazed through him like wildfire, thawing his frozen limbs and fuelling him. _Never again._ He grabbed Aurora’s arms with a bruising grip, pulling her off him and shoving her away, not even caring that he might hurt her. _I will not go through this again._

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, his eyes so dark and brimming with fury that Aurora stumbled backwards in alarm. She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Just giving you a little push,” she said “I know you want me, so I just thought I’d—” 

“Stop right there,” said Killian harshly. “I don’t ‘ _want you,’_ as you so charmingly put it, and I have never once so much as hinted that I did. Where did you get that idea?” 

Her brow wrinkled into a baffled frown. “Well— I mean, come on. You’re always teasing me, making me laugh, calling me ‘love’—” 

“I do that with _everyone!_ ” shouted Killian, making her flinch. He ran his hand through his hair, wondering where he’d gone so badly wrong. “Haven’t you noticed?”

Aurora shrugged again. Of course she hadn’t noticed, thought Killian in disgust, and this _wasn’t_ his fault. She rarely noticed anything that didn’t directly affect her. He’d done his best to keep her at a distance, and she’d failed to pick up on a single one of his cues. 

Aurora looked affronted. “Are you seriously rejecting me?” she asked incredulously. “ _Me?_ ”

“Of course I’m bloody rejecting you,” he snarled as his tenuous hold on his temper snapped. “I literally _just said_ I’m not interested! Do you never _listen?_ ” He rounded on her, stalking towards her, backing her up against the wall of the school and invading her space, feeling a strange, dark pleasure at the way her eyes widened in fear. “But naturally you don’t listen, do you, because you’re a pretty girl and that means you can do whatever you want, take whatever you want, isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you believe? And when someone dares to tell you no, you have the audacity, the bloody, fucking _gall,_ to be insulted by that. Because it would never cross your mind that your advances might be unwelcome.” 

He knew in the back of his mind that he was being unfair, that Aurora was merely vain and self-centred; she didn’t have any kind of agenda, wasn’t trying to use him. Of course, Milah hadn’t _tried_ to use him either but he’d still felt used. Aurora needed to learn to respect people’s boundaries. 

She was staring at him with wide eyes.“I didn’t— I just—” she stuttered, “You’re hot, and I just wanted— I didn’t mean to— to—”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. But your intentions, your reasons, your excuses, whatever makes you feel you can take advantage of others, they don’t make a speck of difference to the people on the receiving end. The people who are made to feel helpless by your actions, who don’t wish to go along with them but can’t say no because they fear the consequences.” 

He felt his hand curl into a fist and fought down the urge to slam it into the wall. He wanted to lash out, to _hurt_ something, and squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled to resist the compulsion. Dimly, he heard Dr Hopper’s calm, soothing voice in his head. _Being angry is normal, Killian. It’s natural. It’s fine. You need to give yourself permission to feel it. But you can’t allow it to control you._ You _control_ it _._

He imagined pulling the plug from a bathtub, watched the water swirl away, taking his fury with it until only drops remained. He imagined the drops drying up. Gone. All gone. Drawing several deep breaths he opened his eyes and stepped back. “Look,” he said to Aurora, who was waching him warily, “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I was truly just being friendly. You’re a lovely girl, but I’m not interested in… in that way.” 

She relaxed visibly as he increased the space between them, but didn’t move away from the wall. “It’s Emma isn’t it,” she said in a small voice. “She’s the one you want.” 

“Of course it’s Emma,” replied Killian automatically. He didn’t even have to think about it. “I love her.” 

The words fell so naturally from his lips, a simple statement of incontrovertible fact, and in a sudden blinding flash of clarity he realised that it was true. All the anger and confusion and feelings of inadequacy he’d been struggling with for months were swept away and replaced by a simple, calm certainty. He loved Emma, for real. His feelings were real this time, and he could trust them. 

It was like Sheriff Swan had said. You just _knew_. 

“I’m— I’m sorry, Aurora, I have to go,” he said, grabbing his bag. “I’ll text you later about the project.” He didn’t wait for her response. Emma would be at Granny’s with Walsh; he wasn’t supposed to meet her for another forty-five minutes but he couldn’t wait. He had to see her.   

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out. 

_Emma: Hey, I’m not feeling well, can we do Granny’s another time?_

Disappointment flooded him. _Sure, love,_ he texted back. _Are you okay?_  

_Emma: Fine, just a headache. I’ll see you tomorrow._

Tomorrow, thought Killian. Tomorrow he would tell her how he felt —doubtless it wouldn’t come as much of a surprise to her, if even Aurora, even _Neal_ could see it. Killian suspected that subtletly was not his strong suit when it came to affection— and he would find the courage to ask her if she felt the same. He thought she did, was _almost_ certain, but the possibility that she didn’t was suddenly terrifying. 

But Emma wasn’t in school the next day. 

_Headache turned out to be the flu,_ she texted in response to his concerned inquiry. _Just need rest. Gonna stay in bed the next few days._  

He sent her a meme he’d found that he thought would make her laugh.

Her response came after several minutes. _Don’t text me for a while. I’m fine, but I need rest._  

His eyebrows snapped together as he read the message, worry twisting into a hard knot in his chest. Even if she was ill, Emma would still want to hear from him. 

Wouldn’t she? 

The next day was Saturday, the first day of the longest weekend of Killian’s life. He spent the morning in his room checking his phone obsessively, knowing there would be nothing from Emma but still unable to stop hoping. He tried to read, tried to play his guitar, but nothing could hold his interest or distract him from the niggling feeling that something was badly wrong. That night he watched five minutes of half a movie with Liam and Belle before giving up and going to bed to spend half the night awake and staring at his bedroom ceiling. 

Sunday was much the same, only worse. In the morning he blasted some music loud enough to drown his thoughts as he did his calc and physics homework. Once that was finished, he was again at a loss. The afternoon found him lying listlessly on the sofa, staring at the wall, willing time to pass. 

“What’s eating you, brother?” asked Liam, coming to sit next to him. His voice was cheerful, but there was worry behind his eyes. Killian attempted to smile, to reassure his brother that he wasn’t falling back into his dark place again. “Nothing, really,” he said. “I’m just a bit worried about Emma. She says she’s got the flu, but I can’t help feeling there’s something else wrong. She— she told me not to text her.” 

Liam pulled Killian up and into a hug, feeling inadequate, wishing he had some advice. He hadn’t dated at all at Killian’s age, being far too busy raising his little brother, so he had no personal experience to draw on. All he could offer was distraction. “Belle and I are just leaving,” he said. “Going for a quick sail. You’re welcome to join.” 

“Thanks, Liam, but no,” said Killian. He appreciated the offer but knew that Liam and Belle really didn’t want him tagging along on their sailing trip. “I think I’ll go for a walk.” 

“As you like,” said Liam. “We’ll be back in time for dinner. How about pizza?”

“Sounds good.” 

Killian’s feet carried him through the streets of Storybrooke without his conscious thought, and he wasn’t terribly surprised when he realised they had brought him to Emma’s house. He didn’t knock on the door, respecting her request for rest and solitude, but he did stand for a long time across the street staring up at her bedroom window. 

“I hope you’re all right, Swan,” he whispered, then turned to go back home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was back at school on Monday, at her locker as usual when Killian arrived. His heart leapt into his throat as he hurried over, trying not to look like he was hurrying. “Hey, Swan,” he said, unable to suppress the stupid, adoring grin he was sure he had on his face. She looked up and for a moment she smiled back, the radiant, beautiful smile he loved. Then she seemed to remember something, and the smile crumbled at the edges. “How are you feeling?” he inquired.

She shrugged. “I’m better. How was your weekend?” 

“Dull. I missed you.” He looked at her closely, reaching out to brush her hair from her face as he’d done a hundred times before. She flinched, just a tiny twitch, so small he’d have missed it if he weren’t so intent on her. It felt like a knife through his heart. “Are you sure you’re all right, Emma?”

“Yeah, fine. I’ve gotta go, though, I want to see my psych teacher before class to get the work I missed from Friday. I’ll see you in English, okay?” Before he could reply she was gone. He stood long after she had disappeared, the knot of worry in his chest tighter than ever. Something was definitely very, _very_ wrong. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was uncharacteristically quiet in English class, and when the period was over she made another excuse about seeing her sociology teacher to get the makeup work and left before he could offer to walk with her. He fidgeted all through his French class, and as soon as the bell rang he was out the door, hoping to catch her as she left sociology. She was quicker than he was, however, and all he saw was a flash of golden hair going around the corner. 

Killian scowled so hard that a pair of freshmen actually jumped when they saw him, and scrambled to get out of his way. He knew Emma had a free period next and he suspected he knew where she’d be. Without a qualm he walked straight past the door of his German classroom and headed for the library. 

He found her in their corner, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. She was folded up tightly with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried in them. “Emma,” he said, and she jumped in surprise and looked up. 

“Go away, Killian,” she whispered. “I can’t— just please go away.”  

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to go away.” He knelt beside her, placing a tentative hand on her arm. She drew a shaky breath but didn’t pull away. “Please talk to me, love,” he implored. “I know there’s something bothering you. Please tell me what it is. I want to help.” 

Emma wanted to cry, to scream, to tear something apart. She had spent the past three days in bed pretending to be sick, trying to steel herself for what she would need to do to survive seeing him, to be his friend now that all her hopes were shattered. That morning when he’d smiled at her like nothing had changed she’d nearly shattered herself. Seeing him was so hard, harder than she’d expected. So hard she wasn’t sure she could do it. The warmth of his hand on her arm called to her, made her want to bury herself against him and beg him to love her, even as she wished she could run far away and never see him again. 

“You can’t help,” she whispered. 

“Why not? What’s troubling you, darling?”

The endearment spoken so softly in his newly deep voice ripped a new piece off her tattered heart. Why did he have to care so much about her, but still not care enough? She shut her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his beloved face, his gorgeous eyes full of concern. 

She couldn’t do this anymore, she thought in despair, couldn’t hold her feelings in. Couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. “I’m sorry,” she said. 

“For what, my love?”

She was too upset to notice the possessive pronoun. “I tried,” she said, “I tried so hard just to be your friend, I know that’s what you need, you don’t need my mess— but I can’t do it anymore. I’m so sorry.”

“Wha— what are you saying?” he asked, his voice tinged with panic. “You can’t be my friend anymore?”

She gave a small, frantic sob. “No, I can’t, I can’t be your friend—”

“Emma, please,” he whispered, his voice desperate now, “Please don—”

“—because I love you,” she burst out, cutting him off, her eyes still shut tight, not wanting to see pity on his face. “I love you so much, Killian, and…  it just hurts too much, that’s all. It hurts to love someone who only sees you as a friend.” 

He was silent for a long time. Tears began to burn behind her eyes and she wished he would go away so she could let them fall. 

“Is that really what you think?” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “That I only see you as a friend?”

Something in his tone made her gasp, and her eyes flew open as she looked up at him. “Well, isn’t that how you see me?” she asked, not daring to hope.

Killian shook his head, looking incredulous. “And here I thought I was so bloody obvious,” he muttered. He shifted until he was sitting next to her, taking her hand and gently pulling her out of her out of her defensive huddle until they were facing each other, their shoulders braced against the wall. “Emma, love, of course I see you as a friend. You are my best friend. The best friend I’ve ever had.” He smiled wryly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not also just completely in love with you.” 

She drew in her breath sharply as the hope she’d been holding back surged through her, and gripped his hand tightly. “You are?” she breathed. 

“I am. Hopelessly.”

“Really?”

He laughed. “I honestly thought you knew. Everyone else does.” 

“What do you mean everyone else?”

“Oh, you know. Liam, your dad, Aurora, most of the school probably, hell even bloody effing Neal knows. I’m not subtle in my affections, Swan.” 

“Well I certainly didn’t know!” she cried.

His eyes were soft and intense, filled with a heat she’d never seen in them before, one that made her nerve endings sizzle as he leaned closer. The butterflies were headbanging in her belly. He reached up and cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb stroking fire across her cheekbone. “Then I suppose I’ll have to make my feelings more… explicit,” he whispered as his hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers tangling through her hair. She forgot to breathe as he pulled her gently towards him, then his lips were on hers and she forgot everything. 

The kiss started out soft, a delicate brush of slightly parted lips, clinging with just a hint of wetness. It was _wonderful,_ and not nearly enough. Emma leaned closer, pressing her mouth harder against his, excitement swirling through her when he nudged her lips apart and took the kiss deeper, encouraging her tongue into his mouth to dance with his and moaning softly when her arm wrapped around him and she gripped the back of his shirt tightly in her fist. 

Encouraged by that moan, driven by the need to feel him against her she’d suppressed for so long, Emma pushed Killian back until both his shoulders were against the wall then crawled into his lap. Kneeling across his hips she pressed herself against him, twining her arms around his neck. She could feel his heart pounding against hers and when his hand slid down her back to cup her ass her butterflies lost their tiny minds. He was kissing her so deeply now that it was almost more than she could handle, his greater experience in this area making itself evident as he demanded things of her that she had never even imagined doing before. But Killian was patient and careful not to overwhelm her, instead leading her along, showing her what felt good and encouraging her to try it for herself. She felt— powerful, and sexy, and so turned on she thought she might just burst into flames right there in the library. 

Neal had always called her a prude and deep down she had worried that he was right. She certainly hadn’t liked the way he’d touched her, always grabbing at her, always pushing for more than she was ready to give. When he’d shoved his tongue in her mouth she had always had to fight against the revulsion that rose up in her throat, always pulled away as soon as she could. Neal had blamed her for the lack of heat between them, and she realised that deep down she had also blamed herself. But it hadn’t been her, Emma realised now, there was nothing wrong with _her,_ she’d just been kissing the wrong boy. Kissing Killian was so _different_ , the heat and wetness of his mouth so delicious, his tongue both rough and soft against her own, she just wanted to kiss him forever. His hands and mouth on her were somehow both gentle and passionate, insistent yet also reverent. His touch swept away all of her insecurities and erased every thought of Neal from her mind. 

_God,_ she loved him. 

She pulled back from the kiss and looked down at him, at his red lips and glazed eyes, his hair mussed by her fingers. He smiled at her, an adoring, beautiful smile that made her heart ache with love. “Emma,” he breathed. “You are— _everything_ to me. Everything I have ever wanted or could ever have dreamt of. I love you. So much.” He spoke the last words against her lips as she kissed him again, sinking into him until they were lost to everything but each other. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Belle was reshelving books when she saw them. Reshelving was an activity that she greatly enjoyed, requiring as it did minimal thought, leaving her mind free to wander where it may. That afternoon it was wandering in the pleasant direction of twinkling blue eyes and hair that curled around her fingers as she ran them through it. Humming to herself as she slid the books smoothly back into their spaces, Belle turned the corner of the stacks and stopped dead, her mouth falling open at the sight of Emma and Killian in their habitual corner, twined around each other, engaged in a full-on makeout session. 

_Liam’s going to be thrilled,_ was Belle’s first thought. 

Her second was that she should probably put a stop to this. She was relieved to see that all their clothes were still on and all four hands on the correct side of them, but she knew what teenagers were like and already they seemed to have lost all awareness of their surroundings. Not wanting to embarrass them, she dropped a book heavily onto the metal cart in front of her, as if by accident, then glanced back at them quickly out of the corner of her eye. They hadn’t noticed. She picked up a heavier book and dropped it from a greater height. It landed on the cart with a resounding thunk, knocking several other books onto the floor. She looked back at the couple in the corner. If anything they were going at it with even greater enthusiasm.  

Belle sighed and stomped over to them, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she cleared her throat loudly. No response. “Seriously?” she shouted, embarrassingly loudly _especially_ for a librarian, and they _finally_ sprang apart, blinking dazedly, clearly trying to remember where they were.

Belle’s third thought —a wildly inappropriate one, she chastised herself— was that if Killian kissed anything like Liam did, then she could entirely relate to the glassy, awe-stricken look on Emma’s face. Belle was pretty sure she’d felt that same expression grace her own face a time or two. 

“Miss French,” Emma scrambled out of Killian’s lap, her face flushing bright red. “I’m so sorry, we just— we were just—” she dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, God, this is so embarrassing!” 

Before Belle could reply Killian caught her eye and raised an eyebrow at her, waving his fingers in a significant manner, reminding her sharply that _his_ hands had only been on Emma’s bum, and in her hair. Belle flushed nearly as red as Emma.

_“We should probably stop,” Belle gasped, tearing her mouth from Liam’s, moaning as his moved directly to her nipple, pushing her shirt aside and sucking it to a hard peak through the lace of her bra. “Won’t Killian be home soon?”_

_“Emma’s away this weekend, he’ll be walking home,” Liam growled against her skin. “We have time.” His mouth latched onto her nipple again, teasing it with his teeth and tongue as his fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh. She let her head fall back onto the arm of the sofa and her legs fall open, inviting his fingers to explore further, whimpering softly as they teased the lacy edge of her panties before sliding beneath._

_The door opened. “Liam, I’m— bloody hell!!”_

_Liam yanked his hand away like he’d been burned and tried to untangle himself from Belle as she scrambled to pull her shirt up and her skirt down. Killian had turned to face the wall, his ears bright red but his shoulders shaking with laughter._

_“Dammit, Killian, I thought you’d be later,” Liam choked, turning concerned eyes to Belle as she righted her clothing, her cheeks flaming red._

_“Sheriff Swan gave me a lift,” Killian replied. “If I’d known what I was coming home to, I’d have bloody walked.” His eyes darted over just long enough to note how rumpled and flushed they still were, and he sighed. “I’m just going to go hide my room now, and try to forget this ever happened. See you tomorrow, Miss French.” He shot them a smirk. “Hopefully less of you.”_

_Belle’s cheeks flamed brighter and Liam promised himself he would give his brother a good smack upside the head for his cheeky mouth sometime later. He turned to Belle, who buried her face in her hands._

_“Oh, God,” she moaned, and Liam ground his teeth, cursing how close he’d come to hearing her moan that in a very different context, “How am I going to face him tomorrow?”_

_“Shhh, love,” he soothed, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close. “Killian has a smart mouth sometimes but he wouldn’t ever want you to be truly uncomfortable. He won’t say anything about it. And if he does, I’ll kick his scrawny arse into next Tuesday, how does that sound?”_

But Liam had been right. The next morning Killian had appeared in the library as usual, meeting her eyes and giving her a bright smile. “Hey, Miss French,” he’d said. “How was your weekend? Mine was _entirely uneventful._ ”

She owed him her discretion, Belle thought.  

“Don’t worry, Emma,” she said kindly. “I didn’t see anything. Though it might be better if you, er, took this outside.” 

Emma nodded, leaping to her feet and grabbing her backpack. Killian moved at a more sedate pace but he shot Belle a grateful smile as he picked up his satchel. Belle watched them go, sighing a little as Killian took Emma’s hand, lacing their fingers together and lifting it to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of it. He was definitely his brother’s… brother, thought Belle, flushing again as another memory assailed her. 

She might have a cup of tea, she thought. Settle her nerves a bit. And possibly send Liam a little text. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma and Killian left the library then stopped in the middle of the empty hallway, unsure of where to go. There was still twenty minutes left of fifth period then lunch, which they normally spent in the library. 

“Let’s go out,” said Emma. 

“What?”

“I don’t want to go sit in the cafeteria, and we obviously can’t go back to the library. Let’s go out.”

“Where?” asked Killian. Storybrooke didn’t have much to offer in the way of dining options, and they couldn’t go to Granny’s when they were supposed to be at school. 

“There’s a roadside diner just outside of town,” Emma replied. “We should be able to get there and back in time if we leave now.”

He squeezed her hand and smiled. “Sounds brilliant, love.” 

She smiled back, getting lost in his eyes for a moment before remembering they were standing in the school hallway and time was ticking away. 

“Come on,” she said, pulling him by the hand as they hurried to her car. 

Fifteen minutes later they were snuggling in a booth at the diner, arms around each other’s waists and shoulders as they waited for their burgers and onion rings. This diner was smaller than Granny’s, and grimier, and the patrons were all watching them with a curious mixture of suspicion and disinterest, but true to teenage form they noticed none of this. Their eyes were only for each other. 

“So,” said Emma, “Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Well, I hope so, Swan, otherwise you’ve been leading me on in an absolutely deplorable manner.” 

She laughed. “And what— what about Aurora?” she ventured, not wishing to ruin the mood but needing the air completely cleared between them. 

“What about her?” Killian replied absently, distracted by the way Emma’s hair caught the sunlight and gleamed like spun gold. 

“I saw you,” she said. “And Aurora. Last week. She kissed you.” 

Killian seemed to snap out of his daze, his eyes flying to hers, suddenly clear and sharp. “You saw that?” he said, an odd, sorrowful note in his voice. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “That was nothing,” he murmured. “She kissed me, yes, but I didn’t kiss her. Told her off, actually.” He chuckled. “It’s possible that some of my lingering anger about Milah may have leaked out. I’m a bit tired of women trying to take things from me that I don’t want to give.” 

“So you weren’t ever… with her?” Emma murmured against his neck, fighting the urge to crawl back into his lap again.

“Definitely not. I am actually kind of glad glad she kissed me, though.” He smiled as she pulled back, glaring at him. “It helped clear my mind, helped me see how much I love _you_. That I don’t have to fear my memories anymore. I’m only sorry I took so long.” 

“You had a lot to work through.” 

“Yes I did, and I’m not entirely finished. There’s still a lot of anger, lots of unresolved emotions, things I may always be dealing with. But I’m so much better than I was.”

He cupped her cheek and kissed her softly. “I want you to know, Emma, that I’ve always felt… drawn to you, from the beginning, that very first time I saw you in English class.”

“You did?” she whispered. 

“Of course. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, boldly staring me down, looking like she wanted to see into my soul? I never stood a chance. I started falling for you right away, but for a long time my feelings for you and my feelings about Milah, my memories of what happened with her, they were all sort of tangled up together and I wasn’t sure what was what or which was which. Every time I touched you memories of her would intrude, and I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want anything associated with my past to get anywhere near you, but I didn’t know how to make them stop. I just knew that I was a bloody mess, and you deserved better.” 

“Killian—”

“I still think that, love, and cannot fathom what you see in me, though I’m resolved not to question it and simply accept my astounding good fortune.”

“You don’t know what I see in you?” she protested, “You don’t know that you’re gorgeous and funny and the smartest person I’ve ever met? And that just being near you makes me so happy?” 

“That last thing is all I want, Emma,” he said softly. “Just for you to be happy. So if being with me ensures your happiness, then I’ll be at your side for as long as you wish.” 

“You’ll be there forever, then,” she declared, kissing him once more as their food arrived. They smiled into each other’s eyes for a long moment, foreheads resting together, then Emma kissed his nose and turned away. 

“Are we gonna eat or what?” she said. “I’m starving.”

“Well, you _have_ worked up quite the appetite, darling.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and sweet, just a little bit of fluff and plot development. It was going to be longer, but I decided to split it and I think you’ll understand why...

“Swan, I have something to discuss with you,” said Killian one lunchtime at the beginning of April. They were sitting outside, enjoying an early spring day that was both bright and warm; fortunately so, as neither of them was quite ready to return to the library at lunch. Emma still turned pink whenever she saw Miss French, and frankly the quiet and solitude there offered too much temptation to repeat the activities that had embarrassed them in front of her in the first place. Better to stay away from the library, and out in public. 

“That sounds ominous,” Emma replied.  

“I hope not, but it is serious. You remember I told you that I had a provisional place to study at Oxford, that I could start there next year if I got high enough AP scores?”

“Yeah,” she replied, ignoring the twist in her belly at the thought of him being so far away. They could survive a few years long-distance, she knew, she had complete faith in the strength of their relationship, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to it. An ocean between them meant months of not seeing Killian except for his face on a screen, months of not being able to touch or hold or kiss him. As happy as they had been together over the past few weeks, that future separation loomed large and depressing.   

“Well, a few months ago Miss French suggested that maybe I might be able to stay here, in the US I mean, for university. ‘College,’ I suppose I should call it.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. She contacted the Oxford tutor I’d been planning to work with, and he contacted a colleague of his at Harvard, and well, the gist of the tale is that they’ve offered me the same deal. Get the AP scores and I can start there next year.” 

“At Harvard?”

“Yeah.” 

“Thats— that’s fantastic!” Emma threw her arms around him, oblivious to the other students in the yard, overwhelmed by the relief and happiness surging through her.

“I’m pleased with it.” Killian smiled, returning her hug and kissing her temple as she snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder. “There is a condition, though,” he continued, “and that is for me to return to Oxford for any graduate degrees, which honestly would be my preference regardless. Oxford is really the best place to study languages on an advanced level. But the more I think about it the more I realise I’d quite like to go to an American college. At British universities you focus only on your chosen subject, but I’d like the chance to explore some other subjects besides languages.” He thought for a moment. “My maths and physics classes here have been really interesting, maybe I’ll try engineering. Or architecture. Having a hand in building something would be amazing.” 

His eyes were bright with enthusiasm, his expression open and eager, and as she listened to him she felt a rush of pure love. He was such a nerd. Oh, he hid it well behind his smart mouth and occasionally almost Brontë-level moodiness, but underneath all that he was passionately devoted to his interests, and in the end wasn’t that what made a nerd?

“Did I tell you I got into Columbia?” she asked casually. 

“Architecture might be something I could— wait, what?” 

She grinned at his delighted expression. “Got the email last week. Off the wait list and in. Mom’s thrilled, of course, and taking all the credit. Says I’m a ‘legacy.’”

“That’s nonsense, love it was all you. You’re brilliant, and amazing.” His voice brimmed with pride. 

Emma resisted the urge to point out that if anyone was brilliant and amazing it was the seventeen year old who’d secured a special deal to go to Harvard. But that would only embarrass him, and there were more important matters to discuss. “You know what this means, right?” she said eagerly. “With me in New York and you in Boston we’ll only be a few hours away on the train. We could see each other every few weeks.” 

“I’ll confess that this was not a minor factor in my decision to stay here for school,” he replied. “The idea of being an ocean away from you was not one I cared to contemplate.” 

“Me neither. Oh, this is incredible, babe, I’m so happy.” 

“As am I, love.” 

And she could see that he meant it. Although his dark cloud still sometimes fell, although the shadows occasionally still lurked behind his eyes, he was happy. They were happy, together. And she wanted more people to have a chance at what they had. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma Swan had always known, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, that she had what any objective observer would consider a charmed life. She had been raised by loving parents in a town where everyone knew her and cared for her, and she had grown up smart and athletic, confident and charming,  pretty and popular. The circumstances of her life combined with her natural gifts had always reliably ensured that she didn’t have to work too hard for anything, and that the work she did do produced satisfactory results. She had good grades, tons of friends, and had never failed at anything she’d tried to do. 

Not that she didn’t also have her flaws. As much as she was kind, considerate, and determined, she was also complacent, shielded by privilege, stubborn, and self-satisfied in the way that only a pretty, pampered girl can be. As a result she had never really examined anything about herself or her life, never questioned her place in the world or challenged the expectations placed on her. She had led her clique, become a cheerleader, dated Neal, all because everyone else seemed to expect it, and she’d had no reason to object. She’d had no reason to ask herself if those things were actually what _she_ wanted or simply what other people wanted for her, figuring that it didn’t really matter, everything would work out in the end. Why wouldn’t it? She was Emma Swan, after all. Things always worked out for her.

All that had changed when she’d met Killian. For the first time in her life Emma had wanted something she couldn’t have, for the first time she had found herself truly empathising with another person, putting herself in his shoes, feeling the pain that he felt. She had made the decision to put his needs first, the hardest decision of her young life, and that had changed her. Killian had changed her. By not obediently falling into line, by making her work for his trust and friendship, by calling her out for what she was and making her see that there were things in this world that didn’t simply fall into her lap because she was Emma Swan, Killian had challenged her preconceptions, broadened her horizons and made her take a hard look herself and her life, for the very first time. 

She wasn’t entirely sure she liked what she saw. It astonished her now to think, for instance, about how she’d allowed Neal to treat her, how she’d just accepted his microaggressions and petty digs like they were something normal and to be expected. She had buried her reservations, her distaste, her outright _dislike_ of him, because of what other people had thought. Because the head cheerleader dated the quarterback, that was just how things were done, and the lack of chemistry, common interests, even basic compatibility between herself and Neal made no difference. She had come to realise, slowly and painfully, that many of things she’d thought she wanted, the things that had always come so easily to her, were perhaps not what she really wanted at all. That perhaps the things she really wanted would be harder to obtain. Like Killian. Like the future she was beginning to envision with him. 

The one thing that Emma had always known was what _she_ wanted to do with her life was to help people, to find something she could do that would make other people’s lives better. Like her father the law enforcer, like her mother the teacher. They were leaders and guides and she admired them, wanted to be like them. But she saw now through her newly opened eyes that if she wanted to make a real difference she couldn’t live the rest of her life in a small town surrounded by people who were basically just like her. Killian had made her see that there was a great wide world beyond Storybrooke, a world full of people whose lives and experiences she couldn’t even begin to fathom. If she wanted to help them she would need to understand them, and to understand them she would need to meet them, to see firsthand what they were dealing with. 

Her parents expected her to follow the same path they had taken. And she intended to, if not quite in the way they anticipated. 

“Forensic psychology,” she said firmly, ignoring her mother’s worried brow and her father’s stern concern. “That’s what I want to do. I want to help victims of crimes, help people who suffered trauma to get their lives back, like Dr Hopper did with Killian. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time but now I’m sure. That’s what I’m going to study.” 

“But that’s… that’s years of school, isn’t it?” said Snow. “That’s advanced degrees.” 

“ _You_ have a master’s degree, Mom!” 

“Which I did online from home after working for several years! You’re talking about a PhD, that’s at least an eight year commitment before you can even get started! Do you really want to be away from Storybrooke for eight years?” 

“Yeah,” said Emma, bracing herself. “About that.” 

“About what?” asked Snow, in a voice that suggested she already knew. 

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back to live in Storybrooke anytime soon.” 

Snow closed her eyes and sighed. Somehow she’d known this was coming. 

“If I want to really help people I have to live somewhere where people need help,” said Emma. “And no offense, Dad, but SB isn’t exactly a hotbed of violent crime.” 

“Violent crime,” echoed Snow faintly. David remained silent, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Plus, Killian wants to be a linguist, and that’s not really an in-demand job here either.” 

“Is Killian behind this decision, then?” asked Snow sharply.

“Well, he is, but probably not in the way you think. He’d be happy to live anywhere I wanted. If I wanted to stay here he would find something to do.” 

“Well, then, I don’t see any reason—”

“But that’s _not_ what I want, Mom! I don’t want to hold Killian back, I don’t want to hold _myself_ back. And I don’t want to live forever in the small town I grew up in.” 

“But— you never said before—”

“I never actually thought about it before. But now I have and I know what I want. I want to see how other people live, and I want to learn about other ways of thinking. I don’t just want to be complacent in my little box of other people’s expectations. I want to challenge myself and find out what I’m really made of.” 

“Oh, Emma,” Snow sighed, recognising the stubborn set of her daughter’s jaw and realising that all her plans for Emma’s life were about to go up in smoke. “David, talk to her!”

David had sat silently throughout the discussion, and he considered his words carefully now before he spoke. “I’m proud of you, Emma,” he said finally. 

“David!” 

“You know that I will always support any decision you make,” David continued, placing a calming hand on Snow’s knee. “We’ve tried to raise you to make good ones, and I trust your judgement. But I admit I never expected you to make a decision like this, and I could not be more proud. You’ve chosen a path that will be hard, harder than many alternative paths you could have gone for. But I think it will be a rewarding, and more importantly a worthwhile one.” 

“But David, everything we’ve worked to give her!” cried Snow.

“We worked to give her everything we could so that she would have the freedom to live her life as she wished to,” said David. “That’s what she intends to do. We have to respect her choices, Snow.” 

Emma rose from where she had been curled up in an armchair and sat on her father’s lap, something she hadn’t done in years. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she squeezed him tightly and buried her face in his shoulder. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered. 

David squeezed her back. “I love you, Duckling,” he replied, turning his head to shoot his wife a significant look. “Snow?”

“Oh, you know I love you both,” said Snow, shifting on the sofa so she could embrace both husband and daughter. “I’d just hoped— But never mind, Emma, if this is your decision and you’re happy with it then I am happy for you.” 

Emma and David each put an arm around her, and the three of them sat that way for a long time, thinking about the future. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

One sunny afternoon in early May Killian and Emma were walking from Granny’s to the school to pick up Emma’s car which they’d left in the school lot after fencing club, preferring to walk to Granny’s and back in the warm sunshine. They walked arm-in-arm, their custom now, their strides perfectly matched and the silence between them easy and comfortable. Killian loved their comfortable silences; although when necessary he could talk with the best of them, he was not a person who was naturally inclined to a lot of noise and chatter. He preferred quiet more often than not, and always needed some peace after spending time in a noisy environment, even one he enjoyed like a concert or open mic, or a rowdy family dinner of the sort he and Emma seemed to find themselves at every weekend these days. He loved that they could just be together, just enjoy each other’s company without needing to fill the silence with talk. Her presence calmed his often turbulent mind, made him feel grounded and happy, and even better, content. He didn’t think he’d ever known simple contentment before in all his life and he treasured it.

Yet that afternoon the silence would have to be broken. 

“Swan,” he said. 

“Hmmm?” Emma was clearly still caught up in whatever thoughts she’d been thinking before he spoke. 

“What are you thinking about?” He was suddenly curious to know what had put that little smile on her face, and what he had to say could wait. 

“Just thinking about this summer. School’s going to be over soon. Do you think you’ll get a job?”

“I have one already. I’m going to be helping Liam with some work at the docks, and also it seems I’ll be tutoring your cousin Henry in maths.” 

“Yeah, he told me. Would you call that a real job, though?” 

“It’s real pay, Swan. Quite a bit of it, actually, your aunt is very determined for him to succeed. And hark at you, daughter of a teacher, thinking tutoring’s not a real job! What would your mother say?”

“Ha ha. I just meant it can’t be many hours.”

“Three per week, which I suppose isn’t many as far as jobs go but is at least two and a half more than Henry would prefer.”

“He’s such a smart kid, but hopeless at math. He’ll keep you on your toes.” 

“I’ll be prepared. I assume you’re asking me about this because you have a job of your own?”

“Yeah, I’m going to be working at the ice cream shop. They have extended summer hours and they get really busy. _And_ my dad says I can shadow one of his deputies a couple of days a week. He says if I’m going to be working with law enforcers, even as a psychologist, I should know what they do from the ground up.” 

“That sounds like a solid plan.” 

“And it will leave plenty of time for us to do stuff together,” she said, pulling her arm from his so she could wrap it around his waist and lean her head on his shoulder. He draped his own arm around her waist, his hand casually on her hip, brushing a kiss over her hair as they continued to walk, their movements so in sync that their pace never faltered. Killian smiled to himself. As wonderful as the comfortable silence was, the casual intimacy might be even better. That he could touch her freely and she him was one of the great joys of his life. 

“I very much look forward to hearing about these summer activities that I can tell you’re planning, love, but I have a more immediate concern that we need to discuss.” 

“Oh? And what’s that?” 

“You have to promise not to laugh.” 

She was indignant. “Killian Jones, when have I ever laughed at you?”

“You laugh at me all the time!” 

“I laugh _with_ you, which is not the same. You can’t blame me for laughing when you’re trying to be funny!” 

“All right, I suppose that’s fair. But this time—” 

“I promise not to laugh, Killian.”

He nodded. “Good. Well. Okay.” He drew a deep breath. “God, I feel like a right git asking this, these are words that I never in all my life thought I’d need to say, but… well, um…” 

“Spit it out, Jones, I’m losing my will to live here,” teased Emma, burying her grin in his shoulder. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming, and despite her promise was very tempted to laugh at him. After all his snarky comments about American high school clichés he was finally being forced to eat his words. 

“Are you really going to make me say it, Swan?”

“I absolutely am, and also I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

He groaned, and she swallowed a giggle. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, “though I think that if you really loved me you wouldn’t put me through this.” 

“Love is pain, babe, isn’t that what Fergie sang?”

“Another right git, so the quote seems apt. Okay, look. Emma. Will you— oh, God, I absolutely cannot say it!” 

“Yes you can, and you’d better or I’ll go with someone else! Surely you don’t think you’re the only one who’s asked me. Or hasn’t asked me, in your case.”

“Someone’s asked you to the prom behind my back?” he snarled, bristling in indignation. “Who? Tell me so I can flatten the bastard.” 

“Asked me to the what now?” She blinked at him, eyes wide and innocent.

The look on his face was _priceless_. “Bloody hell, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” 

“For a smart guy you are so dumb sometimes. Just ask me, it’s not like you don’t know the answer.” 

He shot her a smirk that was second cousin to a leer. “I would never consider you a foregone conclusion, my darling.” 

“Just ask me, Killian!” 

“Argh! Fine! Emma, will you go to the prom with me?”

“Yes, of course I will. I thought you’d never ask. Like, literally, never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we will see them go to the ~~ball~~ prom. Naturally.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prom time! Please read the notes at the end!! (And thanks for reading full stop! This is the penultimate chapter :)

On the day of the prom Emma’s butterflies, which had largely gone into hibernation over the past few weeks as her relationship with Killian had steadied and solidified, were back in full force. It was incredible how much her life had changed in the past year, she reflected. She’d had no butterflies at all before last year’s prom. It had been just another party, another fun time with her friends. She hadn’t even technically gone with a date, instead she, Ruby, Victor, Neal, and several of their other friends had all gone together in a group. Neal had used every dance as an excuse to grope her, then at the end of the night he’d pulled her into a quiet corner on a lame pretext and tried to get her to have sex with him. 

_“No, Neal, I’ve told you before I don’t want to!”_

_“Come on, Emma, it’s the fucking prom!”_

_“Please don’t use that word.”_

_“God, you’re such a prude. It’s the_ freaking _prom, everyone does it!”_

_“I’m not everyone!”_

_“Well, that’s for sure. You’d have put out by now if you were.”_

The night had ended with her crying quiet tears alone in her room, wondering if there really was something wrong with her for not wanting to have sex as everyone else seemed to be doing, as Ruby and Victor were, and most of the other cheerleaders. But even though she’d been calling Neal her boyfriend for most of a year, she’d had no desire for him to touch her that way. 

Of course with Killian everything was different. Emma sometimes felt that “it’s different with Killian” had become her own personal mantra. For one thing, he didn’t have to make lame excuses to get her alone, and for another she was absolutely certain that she wanted to sleep with him. It might not be that night —he still had reservations, bad associations from his past that still crept up on him sometimes and made him hesitant to push things too fast with her— but that didn’t matter. Tonight, next year, ten years from now, she wanted him to be her first —her _only_ — and she would wait as long as he needed. Another personal mantra. 

She and Killian had permission from her parents and Liam to stay overnight on the Jones’s boat. Whether they had sex or not they would be spending the whole night together, hours and hours alone with just each other, in complete privacy. Emma had never been more excited for anything in her life. Hence the triumphant return of the butterflies. 

Emma smoothed her dress and checked her reflection for the hundredth time, wondering if it had been a mistake to let her mother talk her into doing her hair up like this, curled and twisted and hairsprayed to within an inch of its life. She felt more comfortable with her hair down. 

“You wear it down most of the time,” Snow had pointed out when they’d discussed the matter several weeks before. “Killian’s seen it down. You want to wow him, don’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll be wowed no matter what her hair looks like,” David had piped up, an oddly disgruntled sort of pride in his voice. Despite how fond he was of Killian —and he was inches away from calling him the son he’d never had— it was hard for him to see Emma with another man in her life. She went to Killian first now, with her thoughts and fears and dreams, things she’d once brought only to him. It was right that she did so, David knew, and he couldn’t be happier that she’d found someone who so clearly adored her as she deserved, but it still made him sad. Killian was her top priority now, and he knew that some time down the road there would be children, grandbabies for him to treasure and spoil and love every second of doing it, but he would never come first in his daughter’s life again and if he was perfectly, shamefully truthful he resented that a bit. 

“Of course he will be, but he’ll be even more wowed by something different,” Snow had insisted, and eventually Emma had caved. Sometimes her mother was a force of nature and the path of wisdom was simply to go along with it. 

But it was too late to make any changes now, her hair was done, her dress and shoes were on, and Killian would be arriving any moment. The butterflies began to do gymnastics, a new departure for them, and Emma took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt yet again. Snow came to stand behind her, placing her hands on Emma’s shoulders as their eyes met in her mirror. Her expression was soft and understanding. “You look beautiful, Emma,” she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. 

“Mom,” wailed Emma, “don’t you dare cry! If you cry I’ll cry and we’ll have to redo my makeup and there’s _no time_ for that!”  

At that auspicious moment the doorbell rang and Emma caught her breath. She stood and made a move towards the door but her mother stopped her, clutching her arm. 

“Let your father answer it. He wants to do his stern dad thing, and you need to make an entrance.” 

“What’s his ‘stern dad thing’?”

“Oh, you know, glaring threateningly, asking about Killian’s intentions towards you, that sort of thing. Stern dad stuff.” 

"Okay, _what?_  That’s ridiculous, and anyway Killian’s never going to buy it, he knows Dad loves him.” 

“Well, give your father a chance to try, at least. We’ll wait five minutes then go down. Now stop fidgeting with your hair, sweetie. It looks perfect.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David opened the door and fixed Killian with his very finest Sheriff glare. He intended to make the boy writhe, future father of his grandchildren or no.  

Killian simply grinned. 

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” he asked. “If you wanted to intimidate me away from your daughter you really should have done it months ago.” 

David’s expression darkened. “I’m making up for lost time.” 

“Well would you mind making up for it inside?” queried Killian, giving him a look of perfect, angelic innocence. “There’s an unseasonably crisp breeze out here this evening. Perhaps I might sit anxiously on the sofa whilst you stand over me menacingly with your hand resting on your holster. Which I can’t help noticing that you’re wearing even though you’re off duty.”

David’s lips twitched, but he fought back the smile. “You won’t be sitting anywhere until we’ve discussed your intentions towards my daughter.” 

“Another thing you should really have established _before_ she fell for me,” smirked Killian. David kept his face implacable. Killian sighed. 

“Sheriff Swan, I have come here this evening to escort the princess to a ball,” he announced with a flourish of his hand. “My intentions are almost entirely honourable. May I be granted leave to enter, before I freeze my bollocks off out here?”

David chuckled, and opened the door wider to allow him in. It wasn’t until he’d closed it again and followed Killian into the living room that he realised. 

“Wait, what do you mean _almost_ entirely?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma had to concede that her mom had been right about making an entrance. The five minutes Snow made her wait in her room had felt like an eternity, but the awestruck look on Killian’s face when she finally came downstairs was entirely worth it. 

“You are stunning, Emma,” he breathed. 

She flushed pink with pleasure, but managed a small smirk. “I know,” she said, and he grinned approvingly at her cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she added. He was wearing the same charcoal grey suit he’d worn at Christmas, only this time with a dark blue shirt, an embroidered waistcoat, and no tie. 

“Absolutely not,” he’d declared, over the protests of both Liam and Belle. “There’s no rule that says I have to wear one, and I’d rather not suffocate to death at the age of seventeen, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“At least do up your buttons,” Liam had implored him. “You’ve got chest hair showing.” 

“And what’s wrong with that?” The hair had started growing around the time his voice had deepened, and Killian made no secret of the fact that he was delighted by it. 

Emma made no secret of that fact either, letting her gaze linger a bit too long on his open collar, while his lingered on the neck and shoulders left bare by the narrow straps of her dress and her pinned-up hair. David cleared his throat pointedly, still a bit put out over “ _almost_ entirely honourable” then Snow stepped in with her camera to relieve the tension by annoying everyone, making Emma and Killian stand in half a dozen different poses and moving them around the room in an attempt to find the best light. 

Finally they were on their way, out the door and headed to Liam’s car, which Killian, armed with his brand new shiny license, would be driving. 

Or at least Emma had thought that was the plan. 

“Do you want me to drive?” she asked innocently when he moved automatically to the right-hand door, grinning when his ears turned pink. 

“Right,” he said. “I’m just going to play this like I was being a gentleman and opening your door for you, and not like I’ve been in this country nearly a year and still can’t remember which side of the bloody car is which.” He opened the door with a flourish and held out his hand to her. “Milady.”

Secretly delighted, Emma took his hand and allowed him to help her into the car, smoothing her skirt over her legs as he shut the door behind her and moved to the driver’s side. 

He smiled at her. “Ready, Swan?”

She smiled back as the butterflies soared and dipped in a graceful pas-de-deux. “Let’s go,” she said. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma loved many, many things about Killian. His humour and intelligence, his quick snark, his deep passions and the vulnerability that he showed only to her. But one thing she had never anticipated loving in him was his ability to dance. 

“How did you learn how to do this?” she laughed, as he twirled and dipped her around the floor of the school gym, which had been decorated beyond recognition by Aurora and the rest of the prom committee. Emma had to admit she’d done a good job. 

“My mum,” replied Killian, spinning her back into his arms. The warmth of his hand at her waist made her shiver. “She loved to dance, but once my father started drinking he wouldn’t take her out anymore. So she taught Liam. They used to waltz around the living room, bumping into all the furniture but always laughing.” He grinned at the memory. “She laughed a lot, my mum. I was too young to learn as my brother did, but I do remember standing on her feet as she showed me the steps. After she died, Liam made certain I learned how to dance properly. I think— I think he wanted to keep a part of her alive.” 

“I’m so sorry you lost her, Killian.” 

“Yeah.” He was still smiling but his eyes were sad. “I never really knew her, that’s the thought I always come back to. I wish I’d had a chance to know her.” 

“I’m sure she loved you.” 

“She did. That I do remember. She used to sing me lullabies when my father came home drunk and angry and I was scared. She would hold me on her lap and sing until I fell asleep. That’s my earliest memory, her singing.” 

“That’s why you like to sing.” 

“It’s one of the reasons.” 

The music changed to something soft and slow, and they spun gracefully through the crowd around them. Emma was aware that they were attracting attention —ballroom dancing was not exactly commonplace at high school proms— but she didn’t care. She put her head on Killian’s shoulder and his hand slid to her lower back, holding her close. She felt him rest his cheek against the side of her head as his steps slowed until they were simply swaying, their bodies pressed tightly together. They stayed that way through several song changes, until Killian felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see Aurora’s mother, who was chaperoning the dance, looking at him indulgently. 

“I’ve looked the other way for as long as I reasonably can I’m afraid, Killian,” she said. “And now I’m going to need you to at least pretend to respect the rules. Space between you at all times.” 

“What?” said Emma, suddenly taking notice of what was going on, blinking as though coming out of a dream. 

Rose smiled. “Maybe you two should take a break from dancing,” she said. “Sit down for a while, get something to drink.” 

“Right,” said Killian, taking Emma’s hand. She had a point; a little amused attention for waltzing to Taylor Swift was one thing, but they didn’t need to be making a such a spectacle of themselves that even the chaperones were taking notice. “Let’s go, love, I see Ruby and Mulan over in the corner there.” He pulled Emma towards the small table where their friends were sitting, holding hands, with their heads close together. 

Ruby and Victor had broken up just after the New Year, at which point Ruby had made friends with the new exchange student from China. Or at least, everyone had thought they were friends, right up until they appeared at the prom together, arm in arm, Ruby in a formfitting red dress and Mulan in traditional Chinese men’s formal wear. 

Killian sat down and began chatting to Mulan in Mandarin, a language he’d convinced her to teach him in exchange for help with her English, and in which he was apparently now at least conversational, after all of four months. Emma watched him for a minute then shook her head. He was just ridiculously smart. 

“So,” she said, turning to Ruby, motioning between her friend and Mulan. “Is this for real? It’s not just a stunt?” 

“You mean am I really into girls?” asked Ruby, raising an eyebrow.

“That is what I mean.” 

“Yeah. I am. And boys. And, you know, really _not_ into labels.” Ruby’s voice was forceful. 

“Fair enough,” said Emma, then paused for a minute, thinking. “You could have told me, you know,” she said finally. 

“I know.” Ruby didn’t meet her eyes. 

“I mean, I tell you _everything_.” 

Ruby dropped her head into her hands. 

“I basically talked your ear off about Killian.” 

“Ahhh! I _know,_ Ems!” cried Ruby. “I didn’t tell _anyone!_ I just— I mean, I always knew, I just hadn’t met anyone worth making it a thing for, so I just didn’t say anything. Mulan is worth making it a thing.” 

Emma threw her arms around her friend and gave her a fierce hug. “I’m happy for you, Rubes,” she said. 

Ruby hugged her back just as fiercely. “You’re my favourite girl,” she said. “Just, you know, not in a sexful way.” 

“I appreciate that,” laughed Emma.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the dance ended Emma and Killian drove out to the docks in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was a nervous one, full of anxious anticipation. Killian pulled into the harbourmaster’s parking spot and retrieved their overnight bags from the trunk before offering Emma his arm. She slipped her hand into his and leaned against his shoulder as they boarded the boat.

As soon as they were on board, Emma released Killian to kick off her shoes, then climbed barefoot down the ladder into the small living space beneath. She dropped the shoes on the floor as Killian followed her, then began to pull the pins from her hair. “I hate having my hair up,” she said with a small shrug when she noticed him watching her. “It’s heavy, and the pins dig into my scalp.” 

“It’s beautiful up,” he said. “But it’s beautiful no matter what you do to it. Here, love, let me.” Gently he pulled the pins from her hair and untwisted the locks as they fell from the intricate updo. When all had been removed he combed his fingers through it, loosening the curls and massaging the aches from her scalp. She sighed in bliss and let her hands slide under his jacket to flex against his waist as his cupped her face and he leaned down to kiss her. 

Emma had learned a great deal about kissing in the months that she and Killian had been together, about what she liked and what he liked and just how far they could take things before the intensity became too much to bear. This newfound skill and confidence plus the excitement of the evening and the reckless thrill of being truly alone with him for the first time soon had her taking the kiss from sweet and loving to blistering hot, leaving them panting and aching when they broke apart, hovering on the cusp of a monumental decision. 

Killian leaned his forehead against hers, his hand still curved around her cheek, fingers in her hair. “Emma,” he breathed, opening his eyes to watch her expression closely. “We should talk about this.” 

“I know,” she replied. 

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to have sex with you,” she declared, surprising a laugh from him with her bluntness. She blushed. “But only if that’s truly what you want too.”

“It is.”

“Are you sure, Killian? I don’t want to pressure you, it’s fine if we don’t—”

“I’m sure. I love you and I trust you, and I don’t want to live at the mercy of my memories anymore.” He stroked her cheek and the look in his eyes set her butterflies on fire. “And I promise you,” he whispered, “that right in this moment, Emma, there is no one else in my head. Only you.”

Swamped with love, Emma stood on her toes and kissed him, holding him tightly as her heart tried to beat right out of her chest. Tonight marked a big step for both of them, but they loved each other and she knew that they were [ready](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044466/chapters/43534013).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night Killian lay in bed playing with a lock of Emma’s hair as she slept curled up against him. Physically he was tired, sated and sore in a very satisfying way, but his mind and heart refused to let him sleep. He felt happier than he could ever recall being, happier than he could even have imagined just a year earlier, and he knew that the reason for that happiness was currently snoring softly against his chest. Of course other factors had contributed: he had worked hard on his mental health with invaluable assistance from Dr Hopper; focused on his studies and interests with Liam’s support; and once he’d allowed himself to adjust to American life, he’d come to feel surprisingly comfortable and at home in Storybrooke. But Emma had been the catalyst, the reason and motivation for his desire to be the best version of himself. 

It was an odd thing, thought Killian. He hadn’t thought of Milah at all that night, even as he’d made use of everything she’d taught him to ensure that Emma’s first experience with sex was a good one. It was nice to think that there was something positive that he could take from that whole ordeal, and when he thought back on it maybe he could remember that he had genuinely cared about her and had enjoyed many things about the time he’d spent with her, that it hadn’t been all stress and trauma and heartache. Dr Hopper said that he needed to forgive Milah and forgive himself, and Killian thought he may finally be ready to do that. Because of Emma. 

His love for her was almost overwhelming, terrifying in its intensity. Sheriff Swan, in another heart-to-heart they’d shared a few weeks prior, had assured him that it wouldn’t always be like that. As time passed and his relationship with Emma matured he would adjust to his feelings and learn to manage them. 

 _It doesn’t mean you’ll love her any less,_ David had said. _Just that you won’t feel like it’s burning you up all the time. It’ll be more comfortable. For her too._  

He wondered if it was weird that he was starting to think of his girlfriend’s dad as a surrogate father. 

Emma shifted in his arms, snuggling closer and burrowing her nose into his chest. He tightened his arms around her, pressing his cheek onto the top of her head. He may one day grow comfortable with his love, thought Killian, but it would never lessen, never fade. Objectively he knew it was illogical to feel so sure of this. He was only seventeen, he could easily live another sixty, seventy, even eighty years. There was no way he could be certain of what the future held or how things might change for him and Emma, no way he could be certain that he would always love her. 

And yet he was. He and Emma were forever. He knew they were, the way he knew the sun would rise the next morning. It was simply a fact, one that would determine the course of the rest of his life. And he could not be happier. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Emma awoke the sun was streaming through the small porthole above the bed. Killian was asleep next to her, his hair in chaos and with a slight shadow along his jaw. He was going to be _hairy_ in a few years, she thought fondly. She was looking forward to it. 

This was what she wanted to wake up to every morning for the rest of her life, Emma knew. Sunshine, Killian’s beautiful face, even the twinges in her muscles and the soreness  between her legs. If it meant they had done _that_ the night before, she wanted stretches and extra-hot showers to be part of her morning routine. It had been _glorious,_ everything she hadn’t dared to hope for. She knew, even in her inexperience, that Killian had taken special pains to make it so good for her. Every day, with everything he did, she loved him more. She wondered if that would ever stop. Was there an upper limit on one person’s capacity to love another? 

She was willing to spend her life finding out. 

Killian stirred and blinked, smiling as his eyes fell on her. “Good morning, my love,” he said. His voice was rough with sleep and that possessive pronoun _killed_ her. 

“Morning,” she replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Wonderful.” He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her close, giving her a soft kiss that she returned eagerly. “And starving.” 

“Me too. I don’t want to leave here though.” 

“We don’t have to. No one’s expecting us for hours yet, and the galley has a gas stove and is fully stocked with breakfast foods.”

“Wow, someone thought ahead,” she teased.

“Indeed, and while I’d love to score some boyfriend points by claiming it was me, I have to confess that Liam is the culprit. He said if he saw my face before noon today I would no longer be his brother, and also some things on the subject of keeping my strength up that I’d prefer not to repeat verbatim.”

Emma flushed a little at the idea of Liam knowing what they’d been up to the night before, but then she supposed that their spending the night on the boat together was not exactly being subtle. Her parents would know too, and yeah, she was _definitely_ not going to think about that. 

“Is there pancake mix?” she asked.  

“I think so. And bacon. God, I need bacon.” 

She’d been wrong earlier, Emma thought. Sunshine, Killian’s face, sore muscles, _and_ pancakes with a side of bacon. _That_ was what she wanted to wake up to. Every day. For the rest of her life. 

 

 

NOTES:  I debated long and hard about how to handle the issue of Emma and Killian having sex. Obviously it’s something that’s going to happen eventually, and I wanted to address it, especially given Killian’s past. But I also wanted to keep this fic rated T, as several people had mentioned to me that they weren’t comfortable with smut written about teenagers, a point of view I completely understand and respect. Eventually I decided that them sleeping together on prom night made narrative sense, even if it’s a bit of a cliché, and I tried to write it in a T way. I failed. So the solution I eventually went with is this: No smut of any kind in the fic, but the scene I wrote (which actually turned out quite sweet and not excessively smutty, though it is descriptive) I’ve posted separately on Tumblr. You can find it [here](https://profdanglaisstuff.tumblr.com/post/182794646342/another-brick-in-the-wall-after-the-prom) and also as an addendum to this fic [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044466/chapters/43534013). Also note there's a link to it in the body of the fic in the appropriate chronological place ;). If you choose to read it, please let me know what you think, specifically whether it’s too much for teenagers and if you think it’s suitable for inclusion in the fic or not. Thank you!

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the end! I can’t believe it. This story that started out as a snotty protest against high school AUs somehow ended as my second longest MC and something that I’ve immensely enjoyed writing. It's been so interesting imagining these characters and the events of their lives through this lens, I just hope in the end I've done them justice. Thank you all so much for reading it, and for your lovely comments, without them this story probably wouldn't have happened. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> (There is mention of a court case involving sexual abuse of a child in this chapter. Please be forewarned!)

Nine and a half years after the morning after her senior prom, Emma arrived home at the end of another exhausting day to find a thick cream envelope in her mail slot addressed to “Dr Emma Swan-Jones.” The Storybrooke High seal was pressed into the flap, and Emma knew immediately what it was. 

She sifted through the bills and junk mail seaching for another envelope, addressed to Killian. There wasn’t one. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising, though, she reasoned. He hadn’t technically graduated with her, just passed his AP exams and gone on his way. 

When Killian came home half an hour later she was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the card the envelope had contained with a small scowl. He gave her a quizzical look and she handed it to him, without comment. He looked at it and laughed. “Of course,” he said. “The final stage in the American high school drama. The one wherein we return to the old alma mater, triumphantly to lord our brilliant success over the poor sods we went to school with.” He sat down across from her and handed the card back. “I suppose you’ll want to go?” 

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Do we have any brilliant success to lord over anyone?” That afternoon she had given expert testimony in the trial of a sixteen year old boy accused of sexually assaulting his twelve year old sister. He’d been acquitted. The girl had grabbed Emma’s hand and begged her with terrified eyes not to make her go back home. But there had been no other option. Watching that poor child be herded away by her parents had made Emma feel precisely the opposite of brilliantly successful. 

Killian gave her the soft, sympathetic look he always gave when he could tell she’d had a particularly bad day, and reached out to take her hand. “‘Brilliant’ may be too strong a word, but we’re certainly well on our way to where we want to be,” he said. “Don’t you think so, love?”

Killian was a junior professor, teaching all the hours God sent while simultanously participating in a major research project _and_ writing the book he hoped would get him tenure. She was a forensic psychologist with the Boston PD, handed all the worst, most difficult cases by her superiors, coming home each day exhausted and ready to weep for humanity. They lived on the ground floor of a draughty old house that they paid way too much rent for, trying to save for a down payment on their own place, which at the rate they were going would only take about thirty years provided Boston house prices remained at their current stratospheric levels. She had wrinkles on her forehead now that didn’t smooth out when she stopped frowning and last week she had found a grey hair. _Were_ they where they wanted to be?

She looked at her husband. The years had certainly been kind to _him_. His lanky frame had filled out and he had grown into his face, which was now covered with stubble from the thick beard he was usually too busy or tired to shave regularly. The scruff suited him, though. Everything suited him. Killian at seventeen had been a cute boy with eyes a bit too big and limbs a touch too long, teetering just on the precipice of his potential; Killian at twenty-seven was breathtaking. 

She realised he was waiting for an answer to his question. “I guess. I don’t know. Oh, I can’t think about things like that now, I’m in too much of a mood.” 

Keeping hold of her hand he stood and pulled her up into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her and stroking her hair. She sighed as she leaned against his solid, comforting form, drawing strength from his presence. 

“Rough day?” he asked. 

“When isn’t it?” she replied, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head as much as she could with her face buried in his shoulder. “Not really. Maybe later. Right now I just want to sit and do something mindless. Just not think for a while.” 

Killian kissed her gently on her hair and then on her lips. “Why don’t you find something on Netflix and I’ll pour us some wine,” he said. 

She nodded and went into the living room, collapsing on the sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table. Killian hated when she did that, but sometimes she wanted to stretch out, she thought grumpily. 

“Anything you want for dinner?” he called from the kitchen.

“No, just whatever.” She picked up the remote and began scrolling aimlessly through the options.

He joined her a few minutes later, handing her a large glass of red wine and sitting down next to her, sighing as he did. He looked pointedly at her feet, but said nothing. She felt a brief flare of guilt. His days were hard too. She took her feet off the table and curled them under her as she tucked herself against his side and he put an arm around her. 

“I think ‘whatever’ is going to be pasta and a salad tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head.   

“That sounds fine. What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, whatever,” he teased, using his ‘American’ accent. She gave him a small slap, rolling her eyes. 

“ _The Good Place_?”

“Yeah, go on then.” 

It was a show they’d watched a hundred times, but after their stressful days they needed some comfort viewing. They watched two episodes as they drank their wine, then Killian went to make dinner and Emma checked her email. Five messages from her boss already, and she’d barely left work two hours ago. On a Friday. Firmly she closed the app and turned her phone upside down on the table. She’d deal with work later. Now she was going to have dinner with her husband and enjoy his company. 

They chatted about odds and ends as they ate, the everyday, random subjects that are common in long-term relationships. 

“By the way, you never answered my question, love,” said Killian, after a short silence. 

“Hmm? What question?” Emma twirled pasta around her fork. 

“Do you want to go to the reunion?”

She frowned. She’d forgotten about it, and wasn’t sure she wanted to open the subject again. “Eh, I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it might be nice to see some people again. We don’t really do any visiting when we go back to SB.” 

They went back regularly of course, to see Liam and Belle, who were married now with three small children, and her parents, who had a small child of their own— a surprise baby ( _very_ surprising, Snow had laughed) called Leo, who was now eight. But their trips were usually over holidays and they were so busy with their families, nieces and nephews and baby brothers, that they didn’t take much time to see old friends, especially since Ruby had moved to China and hardly ever came back. 

“I’ll leave it up to you,” said Killian. “I was only at that school for a year, and everyone I really came to care about I still see frequently. Even Whale, who I in fact see far too much of for anyone’s liking.” 

Against all odds Killian and Victor had remained friends of a sort and since Victor had moved to Boston three years earlier they went out together fairly regularly, though from what Killian said they spent most of that time bickering and needling at each other. Still, they seemed to enjoy it. 

By the time Emma and Killian had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen it was past nine and their eyelids were drooping. “Do you want to watch anything else?” asked Killian.

“No,” said Emma, around an enormous yawn. “Let’s just go to bed.” 

She was so old, she thought. In bed by ten on a Friday night. But it was better than falling asleep on the sofa five minutes into a movie. 

They brushed their teeth and washed their faces, then got undressed and before putting on pajamas they wrapped themselves around each other as they did every night, sharing a deep kiss as they each mentally played a round of the debating game they called “Are We Too Knackered For Sex Or Not?”

To her surprise, Emma discovered that her answer was “Or Not.” She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but as much as she wanted to sleep she wanted to feel that closeness with Killian even more, wanted the warmth and comfort that she always felt when making love with him. Wanted proof that human relationships could be positive, nurturing things, not like that hellishly twisted nightmare family she’d seen today. Sometimes she felt that without her loving marriage, without Killian’s unwavering support, doing her job might come at the expense of her mental health. 

She signalled her intent by letting her hand slide down his back to cup his ass and pull his hips into hers, rocking her own against him. 

He hummed against her mouth. “So it’s an Or Not for you, then?” he murmured. 

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m certain I can summon the energy to ravish you, love,” he growled, hoisting her up against him. She shrieked and wrapped her legs around his waist, laughing as he tumbled them both onto their bed. 

Later, Emma lay with her head on Killian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soft flow of his breath as he slept. She was tired in a more pleasant way now, sated and content and much more at peace than she had felt earlier, yet still she couldn’t sleep. Her fingers sifted through the abundant hair on his chest, one of her favourite things to touch, and she remembered with a smile the first night she’d spent in his arms. How she’d woken on that shining morning to the thought of how hairy he’d be one day. He had surpassed her expectations on that front. On most fronts, honestly. 

She indulged in more memories of that morning, of the two of them eating pancakes and bacon on the boat, laughing, talking about nothing, getting lost in each other’s eyes. They had been so in love, so happy. So full of bright optimism for the future. They’d thought they had it all figured out. 

A decade later they weren’t any less in love. If anything their feelings had only deepened and strengthened as their relationship matured. But life had not turned out to be quite as easy as they had envisioned it in that sparkling memory. She supposed it never really did. 

She thought about going to the Storybrooke High reunion, seeing the people she hadn’t seen since graduation. People she had ruled back then as Storybrooke’s _princess_ , shallow and carefree, beloved and ever so slightly feared. People who had remained in the small town they’d been born in while she had moved to New York, travelled far and wide with Killian, seen and done so much that had changed her, then finally settled into a job that exhausted and depressed her even as every day reinforced her conviction that what she did was essential work, helping people as much as anything could. What would Storybrooke think of its princess now?

Human nature being what it was, she of course wondered sometimes about the life she could have had if she’d returned after college as her mother had wished. What she would have ended up doing, who she would have been with? Would Killian really have returned with her, given up his own future for her? Even odder to imagine, what would have become of her if she’d never met Killian at all? He was such an integral part of her existence, her husband, her best friend, the love of her life, that she was literally unable to imagine herself without him.  Had Killian never come to Storybrooke Emma would have grown up to be a wholly different person, one unrecognisable to the person she actually was. Whether she would have been happy in that other reality, in her ignorance both of true love and of the frustrations of the life she’d chosen, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that despite everything she was happy in _this_ one. 

Killian shifted in his sleep, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her hip and onto her lower belly as he unconsciously cuddled her closer. Her skin tingled in its wake with the low-level arousal always ignited by even his lightest touch. He was the only man she’d ever slept with, something her friends hadn’t hesitated to tease her about over the years, like it was something they thought she would be ashamed of. But Emma always just laughed, letting the mockery roll off her back. She was more than satisfied with her sex life, certain that she wasn’t missing anything she couldn’t do without. In fact, hearing her friends’ stories of unsatisfying one-nighters and awkward morning-afters and the challenges of dating in the modern world just made her even more grateful for Killian, who still looked at her like she was the centre of his universe and whose hands on her never failed to send sparks dancing across her skin even after ten years together. Why would she want to go out looking for meaningless sex with men whose faces she would barely remember just for the sake of “wider experience” when she had the sexiest man she’d ever seen already in her bed, waiting to worship her and pleasure her and love her? Why go out for hamburger, as the saying goes, when you have steak at home? 

Though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit, if only to herself, how deeply she’d enjoyed the look on her college friends’ faces when they’d met him for the first time. After all the teasing she’d endured about her _boy_ friend who was actually a boy and about her turning down men old enough to buy her alcohol for the sake of a boy who wasn’t even eighteen yet, she had revelled in their shock, their disbelief, and yes, their outright envy. _He’s mine, bitches,_ she remembed thinking, with her newfound college-student affinity for swearing. _And you can suck it._  

“All right, all right,” Tiana had said. “I get it now. You’re a dark horse, Emma Swan.”

“Does he have a brother?” Ariel had asked innocently. 

Maintaining their relationship during their college years had, she realised now, been pretty easy. Alhough at first they had struggled with the distance, as they’d settled into college life and found their friends and routines and formed a routine for their relationship, texting throughout the day and FaceTiming in the evenings, they had learned to handle it. She’d missed him, of course, as he had her, but they’d always visited each other without fail twice a month, the only exception being during finals when they needed the time to study and didn’t wish to spend it on the train. Their winter and summer breaks had also been spent together, first in Storybrooke and later in either New York or Boston, working summer internships to help them get a leg up in their future careers. 

After graduation, Killian fulfilled his promise to go to Oxford for three years of graduate study while Emma, hating the idea of being so far away from him for so long, had impulsively applied for a master’s programme at the London School of Economics and to her surprise been accepted. 

“It’s for social and cultural psychology, which isn’t directly applicable to what I want to do,” she said. “But it sounds fascinating and it’ll give me a broader understanding of the field which can only be an advantage. And I should be able to start a PhD immediately when it’s finished.”

“I can’t say I’d be sorry to have you near,” said Killian. “I haven’t been back to the UK in five years, I’m a bit apprehensive about it. And of course not having an ocean between us is never a bad thing.” 

Emma of course had never been to the UK at all, and so they took three weeks before the start of their courses to travel around the country, everywhere except London and Oxford, as they had agreed that every time they got together (trading visits every two weeks as they’d done in college) they would do one touristy thing, reasoning that this ought to give them enough time to see the major sights of both cities during Emma’s year-long programme.  

Because life was insane and coincidences were real they actually ran into Milah one afternoon in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It was early November and they were sitting on the grass enjoying an unseasonable bout of warmth and sunshine when Killian suddenly went stiff as a board, drawing in his breath sharply. 

“What is it?” asked Emma, concerned, following the trajectory of his gaze to a tall woman with long, dark hair tumbling down her back in wild curls who was walking along the path nearest them, a cell phone at her ear. 

“That’s her. Milah.” Killian’s voice was strained. 

“Really?” Emma leaned forward for a better look. 

“Yeah.” Killian’s hand tightened in hers, squeezing her fingers painfully. “Don’t stare, I don’t want to catch her attention.” 

“Are you sure? We could go talk to her, if you want.” 

“Definitely not.” 

“It might be good, Killian, to talk about—” 

“No, love, please. I’ve worked hard to put it behind me, I don’t want to dredge up old emotions that are best left in the past.” 

She snuggled closer into his side. “As you wish,” she said, stealing his line, and he smiled and kissed her. When they looked up again, Milah had gone. 

That night when they made love there was something almost frantic in the way he held her and touched her and thrust deep within her, as though he needed her to anchor him in the place he wanted to remain. Normally their lovemaking was very much a pair activity, but that night Emma lay back and let him take what he needed, knowing that his fingers would leave bruises on her soft skin but that she would never reproach him for them. And when he clung to her in the aftermath and she felt his tears dampen her hair she held him close and whispered that she loved him and always would, soothing him until he slept. 

The next morning he was lighter than she’d ever seen him, smiling brightly as they did their touristy thing —a trip on the London Eye this time— laughing freely when she held tightly to his jacket at the top, wrapping her securely in his arms. “I’ll never let you fall, Emma,” he murmured in her ear, and she smiled. She wouldn’t let him fall, either. She hadn’t, and she never would. 

When she saw him off on the train back to Oxford that evening she knew that he had left Milah and the trauma of his past behind, completely. Finally. He was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Killian awoke the next morning Emma was still asleep, curled up on her side and snoring lightly in the way he’d always found adorable. She still had shadows under her eyes but her face was relaxed and peaceful, which eased some of his worry about her state of mind. When Emma was particularly stressed she frowned even in her sleep, so her soft expression was a good sign. He hated seeing her so strung out but knew there was little he could do to help. It was simply her nature. She was incapable of not getting emotionally invested in the people she counselled; she cared about them and took it very hard when she wasn’t able to give them the help they needed. He couldn’t change that, nor did he really want to; her generous heart was one of the things he loved most about her. All he could really do was just be there, just offer his support and listen whenever she was ready to talk. 

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and kissed her softly on the forehead, and when she didn’t waken he slid carefully from the bed, pulling on his old Harvard sweatpants as quietly as he could. She seemed pretty deeply asleep and frankly, he thought, she could use the rest. It wasn’t often she had a chance to sleep in, even on a Saturday, but today, he silently decreed, she would. She would sleep late, and when she awoke he would have breakfast waiting for her.

 _Pancakes,_ he thought. _We haven’t had those in ages._  And bacon. Like they’d had the morning after the prom. He smiled to himself at the memory, one that hadn’t crossed his mind in years. So many good things had happened since that when it came to happy memories he had a true embarrassment of riches, and sometimes things got lost in the shuffle. The arrival of the reunion invite had it seemed shuffled them to the fore again. 

Although he could certainly understand Emma’s reluctance to go to her high school reunion and be faced with having either to hide or to explain the stresses and frustrations of the life she’d chosen to people who already struggled to understand why she’d chosen it, Killian knew she wouldn’t change a thing about their life, as he wouldn’t. All things considered they had been almost unbelievably fortunate. Finding the love of your life at sixteen or seventeen was vanishingly rare; even rarer was that relationship surviving years of separation, the stress of pursuing advanced degrees and of working long hours for low pay and little appreciation, and actually growing stronger with each new challenge thrown at it. He was immensely grateful for the last ten years with her and for all the years they had to come, for the children they hoped some day to have, for the life they would continute to build together. All they needed was each other, the rest of it—the jobs, the kids, the house— would work itself out. And if those things never came then they’d still be happy because they’d be together. 

Feeling cheerful at the prospect of surprising Emma with a nice breakfast, Killian opened the refrigerator, only to discover that that they had no bacon. And no milk. Sighing, he quickly peeked into the bedroom to check that Emma was still sound asleep, then tossed on his jacket, zipping it securely as he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and slipped from the house as quietly as possible. Twenty minutes later he was back, armed with bacon, milk, and some good coffee, plus chocolate chips for the pancakes. Emma permitted him to feed her healthy food these days as long as he prepared it, but she still held on to her childhood preference for sickly sweet breakfasts. He mixed the pancake batter and set it aside to rest while he cooked the bacon and then finally put the coffee on. Breakfast was nearly ready, and if anything would lure Emma out of bed it was the smell of good coffee. 

Sure enough she appeared in the kitchen moments later, wearing an old t-shirt of his and rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Is that the Guatemalan coffee I smell?” she asked, “I thought we’d run out.”

“I went to the store. It’s been a while since we’ve had a nice breakfast, and you seemed like you could use it.”

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tested the heat of the griddle and poured out the first batch of pancakes. “God, I love you,” she said against the bare skin over his shoulder blade.

“I hope you’re not just saying that because I got chocolate chips for the pancakes,” he teased, picking up the bag to show her before sprinking a generous handful over half the batch. 

“Well, I can’t deny that’s a major factor,” she replied, deadpan. 

“I _knew_ it.” 

She gave a light laugh and squeezed him tightly before heading for the coffee maker. “It’s ready,” she said. “Do you want a cup now?”

“Yeah, please.” Killian deftly flipped the pancakes. “These’ll be done in a minute, you go sit down and I’ll bring it all in when it’s ready.” 

Emma poured coffee for both of them and took their cups to the table. Sitting, she sipped at hers, letting the rich flavour and the caffeine kick both soothe and jolt her into full consciousness. She’d nearly finished the cup when Killian placed a generous stack of pancakes in front of her, oozing melted chocolate and accompanied by a pile of bacon. She laughed, the first free, happy laugh he’d heard from her in far too long. 

“Are there three of me?” she asked. 

“Now, darling, don’t pretend that you can’t, or won’t, eat all of that yourself,” he said, refilling her coffee cup. “Need I remind you of the Naples Pizza Incident?” 

“I was twenty three then!” she protested, “The calories burned off a lot faster in those days.” 

“It was only five years ago, love, not fifty.” 

“It feels longer,” she said, the grim mood falling back onto her face.  

He sat down and picked up his fork, deliberately casual. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.” 

As they ate she told him about the case, the testimony she’d given, how her best efforts had seemed to make no difference, and how she’d had to send a traumatised little girl right back into the same terrible situation she thought she’d escaped. 

“That _fucking_ judge, he cared more about ‘ruining the future’ of the brother than about protecting a little girl from a _predator_ ,” she fumed. “Of course a sexual assault conviction would ruin his future, it _should._ ” She took a large bite of pancake, chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I think the worst thing was that the smug little shit knew there wouldn’t be any consequences for him. His parents knew what was going on, they did nothing. The judge did nothing. What’s even the point of a justice system if it doesn’t protect the people who most need protecting?” She bit down on a piece of bacon with a vicious crunch. 

 Killian knew this was a rhetorical question; she didn’t want his help or his opinion, just his ear and his shoulder. So he said nothing. 

Emma swiped her plate with the last bite of pancake and popped it in her mouth. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “I did eat it all.” 

“I knew you could do it,” he replied, smiling at her. “I believed in you. I always believe in you, Emma.” 

In more things than just eating pancakes, he meant, and he could tell she understood. She gave him an odd look, half soft smile, half inner turmoil.  

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly.  

“Where?”

“To the reunion. Let’s just go. I don’t care if we’re brilliantly successful or not, I’m happy. I’m exhausted and frustrated and sometimes I feel like all my efforts are for nothing, but then I come home and you pour me wine and fuck me senseless—”

“Um, make passionate love to my beautiful wife, I _think_ you mean—”

“—then you make me pancakes for breakfast and listen to me complain about my day and even though that doesn’t make the problems go away it makes me feel like I can handle them. I can handle anything as long as you’re with me, and I’m happy, Killian.” She reached out and took his hand. “ _This_ is happily ever after,” she said softly, smiling into his eyes. “Everyone seems to think that that means your life is perfect but it doesn’t. It just means you’re happy despite the imperfections.”

“I’m happy with you, Emma,” he whispered, kissing her, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing her breath. “You're all I need, and I will never stop loving you.”

“I’ll never stop loving you,” she whispered back. They kissed again, deeper this time, a kiss tasting of pancakes and bacon and the years and years of joys and frustrations, triumphs and struggles, small victories and petty annoyances that they had to look forward to together.

In that moment, despite the imperfections, they were perfectly, truly happy. 

 

 


	15. After The Prom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the post-prom sex scene that was originally posted only on Tumblr. I've decided to put it here as well, but please note that it is M-rated and that it features Emma and Killian at 18 and 17 respectively having sex. Feel free to give it a miss :) 
> 
> For anyone who read the original, it's been slightly edited and expanded.

Swamped with love and nearly overcome by desire for things she couldn’t name Emma stood on her toes and kissed him, sliding the jacket off his shoulders and tossing it aside before attacking the buttons on his shirt and waistcoat, pleased when she managed to undo them easily even with her trembling fingers. She ran her hands up his chest and through the soft, still sparse tufts of hair that grew there as Killian unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and shrugged the garments off. Wrapping an arm tightly around her waist, he pulled her close and kissed her deeply, doing things with his tongue that left her aching and desperate. Slowly he pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress, tracing a fiery trail in its wake with the tips of his fingers. He hesitated over the slender straps so Emma slid them over her shoulders herself, letting the dress fall into a heap at her feet, leaving her standing before him in only her panties and a strapless bra. She felt flushed and hot all over and kept her eyes fixed on his chest, unable to look up.

“Emma,” he said, and his voice was hoarse and breathless. “Love, look at me.”

She did, and the expression on his face stopped her breath.

“You are unbelievably beautiful,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

He reached up and stroked the curve of her breast just above the lacy edge of the bra before cupping it gently and brushing his thumb lightly across her nipple.

_Breathe, Emma,_ she thought wildly. _For the love of God, you have to breathe._

“Do you like that?” he asked.

She nodded. “Do it again.”

He did, more firmly this time, and Emma found that she could breathe again but that her breaths were coming far too fast, almost panting as heat shot from her nipple straight to her core.

She grabbed his arm, clinging to him for balance on knees gone suddenly wobbly. “Killian, I want— I don’t know what, but I want it _bad_.”

He laughed at that, though his own breathing was rapid and shallow, his eyes nearly black. “I think I know,” he said. “Come, let’s lie down.”

Emma sat back on the cabin’s narrow bed, watching as he kicked off his shoes and socks. When his hands went to his belt she realised she was holding her breath again, and forced herself to exhale as he let his trousers fall to the floor next to her dress. Her eyes darted to the bulge in the front of his boxer briefs, and although she knew he was as nervous and excited as she was, he managed a cocky smirk.

“All in good time, my love,” he said. “You first.”

He lay on the bed and drew her down beside him, caressing her lightly from hip to waist and then back up to her breast again, squeezing it gently while his thumb rubbed her nipple. She moaned. “Please,” she whispered, aching for _something,_ wishing she knew what to ask for. “Please.”

“Shhh, love,” he said. “Let me show you. Tell me if there’s anything you don’t like.”

She couldn’t imagine not liking anything that involved his hands and mouth on her skin. He began to press soft kisses down her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point before trailing his lips down over the tops of her breasts. She arched her back, wordlessly urging his mouth towards her nipple. He complied with the unspoken request, kissing the hardened peak before unclasping her bra and pulling it away. When her breasts were bared he had to take a moment, just staring, running his fingers over the soft curves before leaning in and taking a nipple into his mouth. She gasped and bucked her hips as he circled it with his tongue, sucking gently. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes, I like that!”

He hummed in appreciation of the encouragement, grazing her just lightly with his teeth before turning to lavish the same treatment on the other breast.

Something was coiling inside Emma, something hot and insistent, an odd tingling pressure low in her belly that was demanding… _something_ of her, something that she didn’t know how to give. Desperately she rubbed her thighs together, trying to quell the ache between them, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She needed _more._ “Oh, God,” she moaned. “Please, Killian, please, I need—”

He released her nipple from his mouth and kissed her hard before rolling onto his side. “I know, love” he whispered, watching her closely as he caressed down her belly and traced the edge of her panties with his fingertips before sliding his hand beneath them, letting a single finger slip through the soft curls to where she was hot and aching. “Is this all right?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh, more, please!” she gasped and then his fingers were stroking through her slick flesh until they located a _very_ sensitive spot, pressing it gently, circling it, the circles becoming smaller, the pressure harder, the _something_ inside her building until she was wound so tightly she thought she might explode.

And then she did explode, crying out sharply as the tension broke and sensation flooded her, coursing through her body, tingling to the tips of her fingers and toes. He didn’t stop touching her, instead maintaining the stimulation on her tender nerve endings, drawing out her high, leaving her weak and breathless when she finally drifted down from it.

“That,” she panted as soon as she regained her ability to speak, “was amazing.” She opened her eyes to find him watching her with a smile that was half awed, half just-this-side of smug.

“I thought there was no way you could be more beautiful,” he said. “But that was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” She blushed and his grin turned _decidedly_ smug.

“Well it was a good start,” she teased, wanting to throw him off his game a bit. “What else ya got?”

“What else do you want?”

“Well, I am very interested in _this,_ ” she said, reaching out to trail her fingers over the bulge in his briefs. It was hard and surprisingly hot. He hissed in his breath at her light caress. “Careful, love,” he said, his voice gone tight and strained. “I’m rather on edge right now.”

“I want to see it.” She pushed his shoulder until he fell onto his back, then trailed her hand down his belly as he had done to her before hooking her fingers in the waistband of his underpants and pulling them down his legs and off. She tossed them away and when she turned back her eyes widened at the sight of him, long and thick and hard and _fascinating._ She reached out a tentative hand. “Can I touch it?”

“Yes,” he said. “But… gently.”

His chest was heaving and she noticed him clenching his fist in the bedsheets, as if bracing himself to withstand her touch. She hesitated, remembering how she’d felt before she came, the coiled, unbearable tension. His restraint was almost miraculous, she thought, but he shouldn’t have to suffer. “It’s okay, I can wait. What do _you_ need?” she asked him, then amended. “What do you _want?_ ”

He pulled her down onto his chest, hissing slightly as her thigh brushed against his erection, and kissed her deeply. When they broke apart he hooked a finger under the lace of her panties and gave them a tug.

“Get these off,” he said, then reached behind his head to a small drawer built into the cabin wall, groping around inside it for a moment before pulling out a small foil packet with a flourish and a small smirk. “Liam’s,” he announced. “He thinks I don’t know what he and Miss French get up to on their sailing trips, but I was _not_ born yesterday.”

Emma quickly shimmied out of her panties, deciding not to mention the three similar packets she had tucked away in her purse, at least not yet. They were Ruby’s. Emma was still not _quite_ bold enough to stroll into the general store and traumatise Mr Clark by buying condoms, though she had very nearly done so before Ruby came to her rescue. She stretched out next to Killian as he tore the packet open and carefully rolled the condom down his length.

“So what do I do?” she asked eagerly.

_Now there’s a loaded question,_ thought Killian, one that he had a million answers for. There was so much he wanted to do to her and with her and to have her do to him, and he had to force himself to remember that this was all new for her, and he had to go slowly.

“Lie back,” he said, rolling over as she did until he was leaning on his forearm, half on top of her. He kissed her as softly as he could —which was not very softly, he knew— and caressed her breasts, over her hip, then brought his hand between her legs again. She let them fall open, welcoming his touch, making him moan at her enthusiastic response. He hoped he could live up to it. She was still slick and wet from earlier, growing wetter as he touched her, but he knew that no matter how ready she was there would still be some discomfort if not outright pain, and he _hated_ the thought of it. The idea of hurting her, even to give her something she wanted, appalled him. He stroked her with as much finesse as he could manage until she was moaning and digging her fingernails into his shoulder, bringing her just to the edge of release without tipping her over. He knew he wouldn’t last long once he got inside her and he was desperate not to leave her unsatisfied, needed her to be as close as possible so she could come again once they were joined.

With his heartbeat thundering in his ears he carefully positioned himself between her legs, right at her entrance, pausing a moment to take in the glorious sight of her flushed face and swollen lips, her green eyes hazy and wanting. Drawing several deep, calming breaths, he forced himself to focus, to think clearly. He loved her beyond anything and he bloody well intended to make this good for her. For that he needed his wits intact.

“Are you ready?” he asked, when he finally felt that he was.

“Yes,” she whispered, smiling into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.” Slowly, so slowly, he began to push into her, soothing her when she involuntarily tensed at the unfamiliar intrusion. “Relax, love,” he whispered, kissing her softly and stroking her hair. She nodded and took a deep breath, trying to stay loose as he rocked his hips gently, going in deeper each time and whispering soft words to her as he eased through the tight resistance of her virgin passage until he was finally fully inside.

“How do you feel?” he asked, forcing the words out, trembling with the effort to keep still.

“Fine,” she shifted beneath him, adjusting to the odd sensation of being so stretched and full. It burned a little but didn’t hurt too badly, and underneath the discomfort she could sense the arousal he’d stoked earlier, just waiting to flare to life again. She squirmed until she found an angle that was comfortable, and he forced himself to be patient, clenching his jaw to keep from swearing. “It’s a bit weird but it feels good,” she declared finally. “I think— I think you should move, though.”

_Oh thank fuck._

He began to thrust, slowly at first then picking up speed as she hummed in enjoyment. “Mmmmm,” she said. “That’s nice.”

“Nice?” he gritted.

“ _Really_ nice. I think if I just—” She shifted again, lifting her hips and hooking a leg around his waist. His next thrust hit her much deeper and she gasped. “Oh! Oh, yes, that feels _so_ good.”

She hitched her leg higher and threw her head back against the pillows, her eyes drifting shut and her hips rising rhythmically to meet his thrusts. She was glorious, radiant, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer. From the noises she was making and the way her hands were grasping and flexing on his shoulders he could tell she was enjoying herself, and also that she was nowhere near completion.

“Emma, darling,” he rasped. “I need you to touch yourself.”

“What?”

“On your clit, like I did earlier.”

“R-really?”

“Please, love. I can’t last much longer and I need you to come again.”

“But, I—”

“Emma, please!”

“Okay.” She slid her hand between their bodies and tentatively ran her finger over the small, sensitive nub, gasping in surprise at how good it felt to do so. She began to rub harder, circling it as he had. Combined with the friction of him moving inside her it felt incredible, and soon the tension was coiling within her again and she came with a scream. He exhaled in relief and thrust twice more before coming himself, groaning her name into her hair.

They held each other tightly as they came down from their high, then Killian gently detached himself from her embrace, dropping a kiss on her hair before getting out of bed. She heard him shuffling around in the boat’s small bathroom, the water running, then a moment later he emerged with a damp washcloth. He held it out to her and she took it, slightly baffled. It was very warm, just shy of hot.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“You’ll be a bit sore, and— probably a bit sticky,” he replied. “This should help.”

“Okay.” Everything else he’d done to and for her that evening had been incredible, she trusted his judgement. But she wasn’t quite sure how to— “Er,” she began, feeling awkward.

“Allow me?” he asked, and she nodded gratefully, handing the cloth back to him. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked the cloth down her lower abdomen and between her legs. He’d been right, of course, she thought. She had been sticky, and the warm cloth felt incredible, soothing her aches and lulling her nearly to sleep.

She was just dozing off when she heard the soft sound of the cloth being placed on the small shelf next to the bed, and felt Killian lay down next to her. He pulled the blankets over them and curled himself around her, wrapping her in his arms. She snuggled as close to him as she could manage and sighed sleepily.

“This has been the best night of my life,” she whispered.

“Of mine too. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“I love you, Killian.”

“I love you, Emma.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. Hit me with some thoughts.


End file.
